


Superposition

by zeroth_law



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Other, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Smoking, friends to lovers to we're in a fight but there's a lot of UST, no beta because i laugh in the face of god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27835240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeroth_law/pseuds/zeroth_law
Summary: Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.Until his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 73
Kudos: 102





	1. Note to Self: Never Work on a Ford Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We would have found each other, and like light yawns across eons to spill on the floor beneath your window, we would fall in love, because we are all and we are nothing and everything in between. We are in superposition."   
> -Sameer Gadhia

**Present**

Dean was attempting to replace the fuel pump on a Ford when Bobby called out his name. 

“Dean! Customer!”

He had _almost_ gotten it, he just needed a couple more minutes underneath the truck. 

“Be there in a minute!” Dean called back. Bobby surely grumbled something under his breath, but it was lost under Soundgarden blasting through the speakers. He just had to connect the sensor to the chassis ground…

The music softened, no doubt due to Bobby’s bringing the customer into the shop. Dean groaned. 

“Hey! D’you mind?” 

“Let me have a damn conversation!” Bobby yelled back. 

“Old man can’t hear anything,” Dean grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! I’m almost done, just a sec.” 

Two sets of feet appeared on his right side, which only served to further irritate Dean. He hated having an audience. 

Dean had the wires exactly where he needed them when he tuned into the conversation above.

“...So ya haven’t got a damn clue what’s wrong? It just stopped?” Bobby was asking. 

“That’s correct. I apologize for not knowing more. I’m… Not good with cars.”

That voice. 

Dean sat up, fast, hitting his head on the undercarriage. He cried out in pain, bright stars blooming all over his vision.

“Dean!” Bobby yelled. He grabbed onto Dean’s creeper and yanked him out from underneath the truck. 

Dean was still muttering curses under his breath, holding his hand to his forehead. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. Whatever he had hit, it had been _sharp_.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he spat. He could feel it now, warm wetness dripping down the right side of his head. The pain was damn near unbearable, and when he tried to stand, the world felt like it might tip over. 

“Is he all right?” That voice again. Too familiar. But Dean was trying to focus on not passing out, and he didn’t bother to try and place it.

“Dean. Dean!” Bobby this time. “Son, can you hear me?”

“Uh huh,” Dean managed to groan. “Fuck,” he said again. 

“Idjit,” Bobby muttered. “That’s gonna need stitches. Hey, I hate to ask this of ya, but can ya get ‘im to the hospital? Everyone else’s gone home for the day and we got an appointment in ten. I’ll fix your car myself, free of charge,” he added. 

The stranger muttered something that sounded like agreement. 

Dean knew Bobby was speaking, but all he could hear was, “Black car,” “Dean’s,” and “Thanks, boy.”

Dean felt hands around him, lifting him into a standing position. That effort made him seriously consider throwing up. He tried to blink the stars away. 

“I’m fine,” he argued, but he was leaning on the stranger for support. 

“You’re not,” the stranger said with a long-suffering sigh. 

“Bullshit,” Dean said. “No hospitals.” 

“Dean,” the man said, and his voice held such intensity and familiarity that Dean finally had to look at him. 

And he knew he really _wasn’t_ fine, because there was no way in hell Castiel Novak was holding him up with an arm around his waist.

“I think I’m hallucinating,” Dean said. 

“You’re not hallucinating,” the man said, but he sounded like he was under water. 

“You’re not him,” Dean thought he said.

“Get ‘im to the car,” Bobby grumbled. The stranger — who was decidedly _not_ Castiel — obliged, and Dean felt himself being led to his car. 

Not-Castiel shoved his hands into Dean’s pockets and took out a set of keys. He then dumped Dean into the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt. 

“Do you… Towel… Bleeding?” Not-Castiel was talking, but Dean could only make out a few words. 

“Trunk,” Dean mumbled. He felt like passing out again. The man came back and ushered the towel underneath Dean’s hand. 

* * *

The next thing Dean knew, he was lying on a stiff bed. One look at the walls around him, and he knew he had made it to the hospital, though he had no recollection of how. Dean groaned against what felt like the worst hangover of his entire life. The lights were so bright it was criminal, his head was pounding, and vomiting was a constant possibility. 

Dean turned his head, and immediately regretted it when the pounding intensified. Next to his bed, on a plastic chair, a man was sitting. His head was down, buried in some book, and all Dean could see was a mop of dark hair. 

“What happened?” Dean croaked. The man’s head shot up, and Dean’s stomach flipped. 

“Cas?” 


	2. Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

**Three Years Earlier**

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance. 

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough. 

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors. 

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk. 

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor. 

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature. 

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone. 

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down. 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. 

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?” 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.” 

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.” 

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?” 

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.” 

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed. 

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor. 

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.” 

“A record player?” Castiel asked. 

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?” 

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?” 

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won. 

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on  _ Led Zeppelin IV _ . Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly. 

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had. 

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “ _ Castiel _ . It sounds kind of --” 

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.” 

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk. 

“Yes,” Castiel said.   
“That’s a _lot_ of kids.” 

“Yes, there’s five of us.” 

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel. 

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.” 

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.” 

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside. 

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?” 

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --” 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.” 

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing  _ wrong _ with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?” 

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’” 

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.” 

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.” 

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side. 

“What do you think so far?” He asked. 

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added. 

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…” 

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?” 

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.” 

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.” 

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and  _ Harry Potter  _ I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice. 

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?” 

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.” 

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.” 

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said. 

“It’s not very impressive.” 

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.” 

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off. 

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but  _ accounting _ ? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.”  _ I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back. _

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile. 

* * *

The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?” 

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kind of obvious now, but the POV is split between present!Dean and college!Cas :) I have like three more full chapters already written, but they need to be edited. The plan for the next like week is to update every other day, but then it'll probably go down to once a week. Hope you enjoyed! :]


	3. An Old Friend

**Present**

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean thought his brain was going to explode. It ached from the accident in the shop, sure, but Cas sitting at his bedside was making the pounding ten times worse.

“Wh-What are you doin’ here, man?” Dean choked out. His throat was dry, and he coughed to clear it. Cas reached below his chair and extended a bottle of water to Dean. Dean just stared at it. 

“Drink it, you’ll feel better,” Cas said. Dean slowly sat up to accept the water, not taking his eyes off of Cas the whole time. He opened and drank it, silently, watching Cas as if he were about to disappear. Dean was ninety-eight percent sure he  _ would _ disappear. 

“Thanks,” Dean said after he had drained the bottle. 

“To answer your question,” Cas said, “I was on my way to Kansas City when my car just… Broke down. I had Triple A tow it to the nearest mechanic. I had no idea…” 

_ I had no idea you worked there _ . Cas hadn’t expected, hadn’t  _ meant  _ to run into him here. That fact hurt more than Dean was willing to deal with, sitting in a hospital with God knows how many stitches in his forehead. He pushed the thought away and cleared his throat again.

“What’s in Kansas City?” He asked. 

“A job.” 

“Writing job or accounting job?” 

Cas blinked at him. “Accounting. I never finished my creative writing degree.” 

Dean’s head whipped up at that, but he immediately regretted the movement. “Agh,  _ fuck _ ,” he said. “My whole damn head hurts. What did I hit it on?” 

“I’m not sure, I didn’t see,” Cas said. “The doctor said you would probably have a concussion. They gave you eight stitches.” 

“Concussion, my ass,” Dean grumbled, but he knew Cas was right. He had only been sitting for a few minutes, but the room was swimming. It must have been obvious, because Cas stood up and placed a hand firmly on his chest. Dean flinched away at the touch.

“You should lay back down.” 

“Right.”  
Dean settled back against the pillow, attempting to keep his thoughts away from the pain in his head.

“So… Accounting. In Kansas City,” Dean said. Cas nodded. “Big man. When did that happen?” 

“I interned at the firm last summer. They approved of my work enough to offer me a job post-graduation,” Cas explained.

“Ah,” Dean said. Cas had been, at most, forty minutes away in the summer. And he hadn’t even called, hadn’t even bothered to stop by Lawrence. He closed his eyes — the lights were still too bright. “You said you didn’t finish the writing thing?”

“No,” Cas said, shortly. “I was… It was too many courses. I would have had to take a fifth year. Committing to one major allowed me to graduate a semester early.” 

Dean murmured in understanding. “When  _ did  _ you graduate anyway? Damn it must have been —” 

“Two weeks ago,” Cas said. 

“Would’ve been nice to know.” 

Cas blinked at him. “I wasn’t aware that you cared.” 

Dean drew his hand into a fist. “What the hell is —” 

“Ah, Mr. Winchester, you’re awake.” A small woman in a doctor’s coat interrupted him. “I’m Dr. Barnes, your attending.” 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Thanks for sewing me up,” Dean said, pointedly avoiding looking at Cas. 

“It’s not a problem. I’m just going to check you out, make sure you’re doing all right.” She turned to Cas. “Mr. Novak, I assure you, he’s in the best of hands here. Go get something to eat.” 

Cas gave Dean a final lingering stare before exiting the room.

“How long was I out?” Dean asked as Dr. Barnes removed the bandage on his forehead to check his stitches. 

“About twelve hours. Unsurprisingly, you lost a lot of blood. That coupled with the head trauma had you knocked down pretty good.”

“Twelve hours,” Dean muttered. “Damn, so it’s Thursday already?” 

Dr. Barnes nodded. “I’m going to need you to follow this light with your eyes, okay?” Dean did. She studied him for a moment. “Well, you’re definitely concussed.” 

“How long til it goes away?” Dean asked, irritated. He couldn’t bear the idea of leaving Bobby alone in the shop for long. Plus, Sam was coming for Christmas, and he would jump at the possibility of bossing Dean around for once. The thought alone was irritating. 

“Best guess? A week, minimum. No screens for at least the next twelve hours. And drink lots of water. I’ll print some other information out for you to help speed up the recovery.” 

Dean thanked her, and she smiled. “That Mr. Novak a good friend of yours?” She asked. 

“An old friend,” Dean said in reply. 

“I only ask because he quite literally hasn’t left your side since he brought you in. Knew all your information, too,” Dr. Barnes said. “It’s nice to have friends like that.” 

“I guess,” was all Dean could say.

“Speak of the devil,” Dr. Barnes said as Cas returned to the room, holding two bags of Doritos and two more water bottles. “Mr. Winchester is healing up nicely, but he’s definitely concussed. Do me a favor and make  _ sure  _ he doesn’t go back to that shop until next week?” 

Cas’ eyes flickered to Dean, then back to Dr. Barnes. “You have my word.” 

“Excellent. Well, Mr. Winchester, I’ll just go print off some paperwork, and then you’ll be free to go.” 

“Thanks, Doctor,” Dean said. 

When she had left the room, Cas sat back down in his chair, placing one of the waters and chip bags on Dean’s bed. “I figured you might be hungry.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, opening the bag. “They didn’t have any beer?” 

“This is a hospital, Dean,” Cas deadpanned. “Besides, I’m fairly certain alcohol would do nothing to aid your recovery process.” 

“What do  _ you  _ know,” Dean muttered, but downed half of the water in one go, anyway. “How long are you in Lawrence?” 

“As long as it takes for Mr. Singer to fix my car, I suppose,” Cas said. 

“Bobby,” Dean corrected automatically. Hearing his boss referred to as Mr. Singer was just cosmically wrong. 

“Right.” 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s probably going to take a while.”

“What? How long?” 

Dean shrugged. “If I’m out for a whole week… God, it’d probably take two, maybe three depending on how serious it is. We’re the most trusted shop in Lawrence, we’ve got appointments, and we gotta take care of them first.” This was mostly true, but Dean doubted that whatever was wrong with Castiel’s car couldn’t be fixed in a week. But he needed Cas to give up the noble role of caretaker as soon as possible. 

Cas narrowed his eyes at that. “And I’m sure if you were to get back to work sooner, this problem could be avoided?” 

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Cas sighed. “It’s a good thing my starting date isn’t for another three weeks. I was just coming down early to get settled. But I can wait.” 

Dean stared at him for a moment. He  _ really _ couldn’t stand the idea of sitting around for a week with nothing to do. But if he knew Cas at all — and he thought perhaps he still did — he knew Cas would relay the doctor’s orders to Bobby, who would then resolutely deny Dean any hours at the shop.

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“I’ll get a hotel.” 

Dean blinked. “The hell you will. For three weeks? Dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

“Dean,” Cas started, but Dean cut him off. 

“No way. Look, I get back to work on Monday, your car’s fixed on Tuesday. I owe you one, I’ll work fast. Then you’re out of here. We can pretend this never happened, you can get on with your life in the big city.” 

“You have a concussion.”

“Yeah, and since when did you give a damn about what happened to me?” Dean’s voice had gone low. The original shock of seeing Cas had worn off. All that was left was a low-burning rage. He was angry, so angry that Cas was here, that Cas essentially gave him a concussion, that Cas drove him to the hospital, that Cas stayed with him the whole night, that Cas could leave and waltz back in whenever he pleased and Dean couldn’t even pretend to hate him. 

Cas stiffened. “I… Dean, you — ”

“No, man.” The anger died as fast as it had ignited. Dean’s head was positively throbbing now. He wiped his face with a hand. “You should go.”

“You can’t drive, Dean.” 

Dean inhaled slowly through his nose to keep from yelling at the other man, right here in the middle of the hospital. “Cas, I swear to fucking God…” 

“You’re acting like a child,” Cas said.

“Yeah,  _ I’m  _ the childish one,” Dean said under his breath.

Cas narrowed his eyes as he approached Dean’s bed. His proximity, not to mention the steeliness of his gaze, made Dean feel like squirming. 

“I don’t care if you have a problem with me. I’m not going to let you drive home with a head injury. We were friends once, and I don’t intend to dishonor that by allowing you to do something  _ this  _ stupid.” When Dean opened his mouth to protest, Cas cut him off with, “Do you really want to do this right now?” 

And “this” meant so many things all at once that Dean almost lost track of the argument they were having in the first place.  _ Do you really want to talk about why I left right now? Do you really want to yell at me for disappearing right now? Do you really want to argue about who is and isn’t allowed to drive right now? _

They stared at each other for a moment, Cas’ gaze unfathomable, Dean’s angry.

“No,” Dean grumbled. “Just get me out of here.” 


	4. They're Gonna Love You

**Three Years Earlier**

Cas was terrible at making friends. 

He really was trying his best — he spoke up in class whenever he could, he talked to his seatmates when it was appropriate. And that was  _ fine _ , everyone was perfectly nice to him. But he couldn’t figure out what exactly he was supposed to say to make himself less “that one guy from accounting” and more “Cas Novak.” So, he was three weeks into college with nothing to show for it.

Nothing, save his roommate.

Unlike Castiel, Dean had already found a group of friends from their floor. He was hardly ever in their room. Cas didn’t mind so much; it gave him space to focus on his homework, which already felt overwhelming and never-ending. But every day, like clockwork, Dean was back by seven, and he dragged Cas away from his computer and into the dining hall with him. 

Castiel had to admit that dinner was the best part of his day. Dean rarely failed to take his mind off of the dangerously constant spiral of social anxiety and school-related stress. Cas learned that Dean moved constantly because of his father’s job, that his brother, Sam, was “a textbook nerd,” that Dean’s guilty pleasure was  _ Grey’s Anatomy  _ (“Don’t look at me like that, _ Patrick Dempsey  _ is in it”), that he loved pie probably more than anyone should be allowed to. And Castiel told Dean things, too, things he’d never had the luxury of sharing; how he decided to be a writer after reading  _ The Great Gatsby _ for the first time, that his attending college had made him the black sheep of the family, how he had never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit (“Is that a friggin’ challenge, Cas?”). 

They had occasionally eaten with Dean’s friends from the dorms, most often on Fridays when the group was heading to a party afterward. That is, until Castiel brought a copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice _ to the table to read before his next literature class, and Cole Martin asked him if he was gay with a smirk. The table had gone silent; Cas just looked at him, heat flaming across his face; Dean was staring daggers. Cole, refusing to get the message, prodded for a response, at which point Dean asked if he could talk to him for a minute. 

Dean didn’t speak to Cole again after that. 

He apologized to Cas profusely on Cole’s behalf, the “sorry’s” punctuated by assurances that it was  _ great  _ if Castiel was indeed gay, that Dean didn’t care, that Cas was Cas. But even if he was curious, Dean never asked the question. And that was good, because Cas wasn’t quite ready to have  _ that  _ conversation, seeing as coming out to Bartholomew during his senior year had led to six months of no-contact. Instead, Cas just informed Dean that he was accustomed to the treatment by now, that bringing  _ Twilight _ to school his freshman year placed him solidly in the “insert homophobic-slur here” category, according to his peers. This only partly fixed the issue, because while Dean stopped apologizing, he started on a tirade against Castiel’s high school demons. 

Cas had never had anyone care enough to stand up for him. He thought he was very lucky to have Dean Winchester as a roommate

* * *

It was Thursday, and Castiel was agonizing over a problem set for accounting when Dean walked in. 

“All right, Einstein, let’s go,” he announced, dumping his backpack next to his desk. “Dinner time.” 

“Give me a minute,” Cas muttered.

Dean moved over to Cas’ desk and leaned over his shoulder. 

“Damn,” he said. “You really  _ are _ a genius. I don’t know what any of this shit means.” 

“Save your accolades for when I pass the class,” Cas said, sighing. 

“You’ll pass, but not if you die from starvation first.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “I think you’re projecting.”

“Maybe I am,” Dean said, shrugging. “But you still need to eat.”

“All right. I’m coming.” 

The pair walked to the dining hall, Dean explaining the details of the party he was attending the following night, how he hoped the girl from his English class would be there. Cas never had much to add to these types of conversations, but he typically tried to remain engaged. Tonight, he just uttered monosyllabic responses when it seemed appropriate. 

Cas couldn’t stop thinking about how alone he had become. The novelty of college had worn off; all Cas could see now was how many hours he spent in solitude. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was doomed for a repeat of high school. The interaction with Cole certainly didn’t help matters, and though Dean was a great friend, Cas couldn’t escape the feeling that everything he did was out of pity.

“Okay, dude, what’s up?” Dean asked. 

“What?”

“You’re acting all weird. Kinda mopey,” Dean explained with a mouthful of pizza. 

“Oh,” Cas said. “I apologize. It wasn’t intentional. I just…” 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I’ve just been distracted tonight.” 

“By what?”

Cas gave Dean a look. “It’s not important.” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas interrupted him, changing the subject. 

“How are your classes?”

Dean shrugged. “Eh. Whatever. I don’t pay attention much.” 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to major in?” 

“Wish I was smart enough for engineering, but… Nah, I haven’t figured that out yet.” 

“Dean,” Cas said. “I’m sure you’re smart enough for anything you want to study.” 

Dean chuckled. “Appreciate that, Cas, but definitely not.” 

Cas eyed his friend a moment, but didn’t say anything else. 

“Hey, you know the party I was telling you about?” Dean said after a moment of silence. “You should come. It’ll be fun.” 

Castiel nearly choked on his chicken strips. There was only one thing that would make Dean invite him to a party. The thought of Dean feeling  _ that  _ bad for Cas made him want to become one with the floor. Not to mention the idea of attempting that level of social interaction was enough to send him into a tailspin. 

“That’s very kind, but I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Cas said. “I’m not much for parties.” 

“Oh come on, Cas. You’ve never even tried it!” 

“I understand the general idea.”

“Man, it’s the  _ experience _ .”

“Dean, I’m not going to a frat party. I have enough to worry about with my classes. Besides,” Cas looked away, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m not… particularly adept at social interactions.” 

“What?” Dean exclaimed. “Dude, you’re awesome. You do fine with me!” 

“That’s different.”

“How?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas sighed. “You tend to do most of the talking. It saves me from ruining things.” 

Dean just looked at him. “Ruining things?” 

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly your typical college student.” 

Dean laughed. “Well, I mean,  _ no _ , but that doesn’t  _ ruin _ things. Plus, I can guarantee that every girl at that party would be all over you. Most of the guys, too, probably. You’ve got the sexy nerd thing going on.” 

Cas blushed profusely. “That’s irrelevant. The point is, I’m not going.” 

Dean sighed, long-suffering. “Fine. I give up. For now.” 

Cas let out a breath of relief.

They finished dinner and headed back to their dorm. Dean asked what class Castiel liked the most, which led to Cas gushing about creative writing for ten minutes. Dean graciously humored him, and when Cas apologized abashedly, Dean punched him in the shoulder and told him to shut up. 

When they got back to their room, Dean put on another record ( _ Wish You Were Here _ , by Pink Floyd, Cas was informed) and left to take a shower. Cas finished his problem set with “Have a Cigar” in the background, grateful for the distraction from his earlier thoughts. That was the one good thing about his double-major — he truly did not have time to ruminate on his problems. 

Dean returned to work on an English essay, talking to himself the entire time. Cas did his best not to laugh at the muttered “what the hell am I even trying to say” and “I can’t use ‘demonstrates’  _ again _ .”

Hours later, after trying, and failing, to read ahead for philosophy, Cas resigned himself to his bed for the night. 

“Tired?” Dean asked from his desk. 

“Yes,” Cas said, throwing off his t-shirt and getting in bed. “But you can leave the light on if you have more work to do. I’ll fall asleep eventually.” 

“Nah, I’m tired too.” 

Dean flipped the lights off and climbed in his own bed. Cas closed his eyes against the quiet blackness. 

“Cas?” 

“Yes?” 

“Are you all right? Level with me, man.” 

Cas sighed. He supposed this conversation would happen sooner or later, if this friendship was to continue. “I’ve never had many friends,” he said. “I told you, after Cole, about the comments regarding my sexuality?” Dean made a grunt in understanding. “Well, it didn’t help that I was homeschooled until I was fourteen. I was what I believe is called ‘the weird kid.’”

Dean snorted. “You? Weird? Never.” 

Cas rolled his eyes in the darkness. “I’m serious. I just don’t want to be the ‘weird kid’ again, I suppose. I believed college would be my second chance, but it’s beginning to feel like a bad sequel.”

“Dude,” Dean said, “you have me. And Benny and Charlie like you, too. If you just went out more —”

“I’m not sure I want my friendships to be predicated on underage drinking,” Cas replied, and cringed at the way it sounded. When Dean didn’t respond, he added, “I just mean… I want people to like  _ me _ , not my drunken antics.” 

“Right,” Dean mumbled. Then, “What was homeschool like?”

Cas furrowed his brow at the change in subject, but humored Dean, anyway. “Terrible. My father attempted to teach all five of us on his own. It was mostly history and religion, which, coming from him, meant racism, fire, and brimstone. He had this grand plan for me, and for my brothers, to become pastors.” Castiel paused. “I had to sneak out to the library with Anna just to teach myself basic algebra.” Another pause, a breath. “Anna kept me sane most days. She was more of a mother than a sister.”  _ I miss her _ .

“Where was your mom?” Dean asked.

“Not sure,” Cas said. “We were all adopted as children. My father never took a wife, and I never knew my real parents. I asked my father about them once. He told me they died ages ago.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cas.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“That makes more sense,” Dean said after a moment. “I was wondering why none of y’all looked alike.” 

“I probably should have explained that earlier. I forget it isn’t common knowledge,” Cas replied. 

Dean was quiet for a long time, so long that Cas suspected he may have fallen asleep. Cas was about to follow suit when Dean said, quietly, “Sometimes I was the weird kid, too.”

Castiel snapped his eyes open at that. It seemed unbelievable to him that Dean Winchester could be disliked by anyone. “What?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. “Always moving, you know. Sometimes, people liked me. Sometimes, they really fucking hated me. It sucks, you know.” 

“I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reads this, especially if you leave kudos and/or comments. that stuff always makes my day!! :')) also not to *self promote* but i do run a little blog on [tumblr](https://haveacigarcas.tumblr.com/) where i post when this fic updates (and sometimes i write little ficlets there too!) <3


	5. Fell on Black Days

**Present**

The drive back to Dean’s apartment was painful. 

He didn’t speak a word the whole way. Not that he could have, even if he had wanted to. The pain in his head from the sunlight was unbearable, and the bumpy roads of Lawrence made him feel like emptying his stomach at any moment. Dean just shut his eyes and gripped the bottom of the leather seat. 

He knew, logically, that Cas couldn’t be staring at him, that he had to be watching the road, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being assessed. Carefully considered. Cas in the driver’s seat made the cabin air feel heavier. It pissed Dean off.

Finally, they arrived at the dinky little apartment complex Dean called home. Cas turned off the engine. Dean exited the car and took a massive breath of fresh air, still squinting against the offensive sunlight. 

“Here,” Cas said, handing Dean a pair of sunglasses. 

Dean stared at him. “Where were these twenty minutes ago?” 

“I thought you were sleeping.” 

“Whatever.” 

Dean put on the sunglasses, which helped the ache in his head ever so slightly. He led Cas to his door, beckoning for his keys. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed at his one-bedroom apartment that he’d been living in since he left WSU. He was sure that Cas hadn’t lived in a place like this since their freshman year. 

Cas said nothing as the two walked into the space. Dean threw his keys on the counter and moved to close the blinds. Darkness was an absolute necessity if he wasn’t going to wear the sunglasses inside, he had learned that much. 

“Make yourself at home,” Dean said, sitting gingerly on the couch. 

“Actually, I’m heading back out.” 

Dean blinked. “What?”

“I need to retrieve my suitcase, at least, from Mr. S — from Bobby,” Cas said. “Then I’ll need to find a hotel.” 

“Right,” Dean replied, clearing his throat. “Whatever, man. I’d offer to drive you, but you wouldn’t let me, so I’m not even gonna try.” 

Cas rolled his eyes and made to leave. 

“Do you need anything, Dean?” 

“A beer and a cigarette would be great,” Dean deadpanned. 

Cas turned at the door. “You’re… Smoking again?” 

“What’s it to you if I am?” 

Cas stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed, and Dean wondered idly if he was about to get the shit beat out of him by his old college roommate. At least he could claim foul play — he was concussed, after all. 

“What is your problem?” Cas asked, carefully annunciating each word. 

“Are you serious, Cas?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Fuck me, man,” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He wanted to say,  _ where do I start?  _ He wanted to say,  _ you up and left and never said goodbye _ . He wanted to say,  _ you were my best friend and you dropped me like I meant nothing. _

He didn’t say any of those things. He just said, “It’s not important.” 

Cas was standing very straight and very still, glaring at Dean with something like holy wrath. Dean averted his eyes. He couldn’t deal with any of this; being concussed, Cas being back. It was too much to handle.

Cas opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. He breathed out, slow and loud. When Dean chanced a glance, he no longer looked angry, just… Sad. Defeated. 

“Dean…”

And Dean hated it, the way Cas was looking at him, imploring for him to explain, the way he felt cosmically small sitting in this room with his once-best friend. He was hurt and he was mad and he was tired and his brain couldn’t decide which of those three feelings should be winning out. 

“Stop,” he said. “Go find your motel, or whatever.” Exhaustion seemed to be inching out a win. 

Cas gave him a final, morose look before muttering, “Get well soon,” and closing the door behind him. 

* * *

Despite his earlier argument with Cas, Dean did indeed avoid the beer in his fridge. He simply laid on the couch in the dark, Bob Seger streaming quietly from the speakers next to his television. His eyes were closed, but sleep refused to come. 

Dean thought the universe must have it out for him, because there could be no other explanation for Castiel’s car conveniently breaking down ten minutes away from  _ his  _ shop. Cas, whose entire existence was shoved in a “Fragile: Do Not Shake” box in the back of Dean’s mind, right there with his dead parents. Thinking about Cas just made him sad, or angry. Mostly angry. Now, he’d had a full interaction with the man he hadn’t seen since he was nineteen, and those feelings were a million times worse. Before now, Dean could have pretended that memories of Cas were too closely linked with memories of his father’s death, and that was why they hurt so much. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Mostly, he avoided thinking about his brief stint in college altogether. He hadn’t even been back to Wichita since he’d failed out. It held too many reminders; of the life he’d almost had, the people he’d loved, how, for once in his life, he’d been good enough for something. No, those memories, too were tightly bound and tucked away in the deep recesses of his mind. He’d peak in occasionally; maybe “Wish You Were Here'' played in the grocery store, or maybe he was a few shots too deep in whiskey. 

And life was better that way; hell, life was  _ good _ that way. He’d suffered in a private hell for months after John died, waiting for someone to pull him out, surely someone would pull him out. When no one ever did, he’d had to do it himself. He buried his fake ID in Sam’s sock drawer and wouldn’t touch it until he fixed his life. He begged Bobby for a job, worked his ass off to prove he was capable. He found a shitty little apartment for him and Sam. He took his brother to school every morning, cooked dinner every night, and worked every hour in between. It was hard, it was painful, and he’d bloodied his knuckles in frustration more than a few times. But he did it. He rebuilt his life. It was stable. It was good.

He’d thought it was good. 

Dean was about three pissy thoughts away from losing his security deposit when his phone began to buzz. He paused the music.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean!” His brother yelled into the phone. Dean winced. “Jesus. You sound awful.” 

“Nice to hear from you too.” 

“Bobby called, told me what happened,” Sam said. “What the hell did you hit?”

“No clue,” Dean said. “But it knocked me down pretty good. Had to get eight stitches.” 

“Damn. You’re okay, though?”

“Well, I’m not bleeding into my eyes. But I guess I have a mild concussion.”

Dean could practically feel Sam rolling his eyes. “Yeah, it sounds really mild. You’re not going back to work, are you?”

“I think if I set foot in the shop, Bobby would kill me himself,” Dean replied bitterly. 

“Good.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then Sam said, “Bobby also told me that some guy drove you to the hospital. He said he recognized him from a picture on your desk, was it Ca-”

“When you comin’ home?” Dean interrupted. He did  _ not  _ need to talk about Cas with Sam “Tell Me How You’re Feeling” Winchester. 

“Uh, my last final is tonight. I should be in Lawrence around eight tomorrow night.” 

“Awesome. Guess I gotta get the air mattress set up for your dumbass,” Dean said. He’d never admit it, but Dean really did miss Sam. It was his first semester of college, and he was all the way in Austin. Dean was proud, so proud, but it still hurt knowing his baby brother was ten hours away. 

Sam chuckled, but it sounded forced, even to Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, can’t wait.” 

Dean sat up, and the room wobbled a little. Too fast. He groaned a little before asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, um, everything’s fine,” Sam said quickly. “I just… I think I’m gonna spend a little time in Kansas City this year, that’s all.” 

“What?” Dean snapped. “Why?”

“Well, there’s this girl in a few of my classes — her name’s Eileen — and her family is in KC, and, well, she kind of invited me to spend some time with them, so I thought, you know, since it’s so close…” Sam trailed off. 

“What, did you just meet her? Why are you going Christmassing with some random girl’s folks?”

“She’s not a  _ random girl _ , Dean, we’ve been… She’s been a great friend to me this semester,” Sam said, sounding irritated. “And I’m still gonna be in Lawrence for Christmas, I’m just not gonna be there the whole break.” 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Right. No, that’s great, Sam. Haven’t seen you in four months, but go ahead, spend some time with a girl you’ve never even mentioned to me. Hell, no one fucking tells me anything, so I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you show up married.”

“Dean —”

Dean hung up. 

He almost felt bad, but he was too busy being pissed off. The last twenty-four hours had been ridiculous. 

He almost turned on the TV before remembering the no-screens rule from Dr. Barnes. Muttering to himself, he stood slowly from the couch and made his way to the medicine drawer in his kitchen. He wasn’t sure about the adverse effects of taking NyQuil with a concussion — conveniently, he also didn’t care. He threw two back with a large gulp of water, then laid back down, waiting for sleep to take him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii this chapter is pretty short and the next one is kinda long so i'm kinda thinking... i might post again tomorrow?? don't hold me to that i'm trying to edit while doing decemberimo hehe :)) thanks for reading! xx


	6. Good Luck

**Three Years Earlier**

“ _ Psst.” _

Cas looked up from his computer when something hit him in the back of the head. He was trying to survive another eight-a.m. accounting class without falling asleep. He turned around.

The girl with dark, reddish-brown hair who always sat there grinned at him. She pointed at the floor behind him with her pen and raised her eyebrows. 

Cas furrowed his brow and picked up the crumpled paper that had hit him. He turned around and unfolded it, doing his best not to seem too suspicious. 

_ Solitaire?  _ It read in a hasty scrawl. 

Cas frowned. She had been watching his screen. He turned back to give her a look of confusion. She only grinned wider. 

_ I am attempting to at least pretend I’m engaged. Unlike you, _ he wrote back. He reached behind him for the girl to take the paper. 

He returned to his game, but was once more disturbed by the ball of paper. Other students were noticing the disruption, leading to the professor saying, “Hey, calm down over there.” Castiel turned bright red. He bowed his head, trying to make himself small as he opened the note once more. 

_ You got me, I can’t even pretend anymore. Wanna study for the test together?  _

Castiel raised his eyebrows at the invitation. He was confused — he had spoken to the girl once or twice, but had never gotten her name, and never given her his. 

The professor released them a moment later, and the girl hopped over her row of seats and into his. 

“So?” She asked.

Cas didn’t look at her as he put his laptop back in his bag. “What?”

“Do you wanna study? Come on, it’ll be way more fun together.” 

Cas put his backpack on and looked at her. “Why?”

The girl looked confused. “What?”

“Why do you want to study with me?” 

“Why  _ don’t  _ you want to study with me?” She retorted. 

“I didn’t say that I don’t want to,” Castiel explained. They began to shuffle out of the row together. “I’m just confused as to why you offered. We don’t know each other at all.”

She laughed a little and cocked her head. “Hun, that’s kind of the point. Ever heard of making friends?” 

Castiel scoffed as they exited onto the campus lawn. “Right,” he said. 

“What’s your name?” She asked. 

“Cas Novak,” he replied. “And yours is..?”

“Meg. Meg Masters,” she said, taking an exaggerated bow. Cas kept walking, and she skipped to catch back up with him.

“There, now we know each other,” she said. “So,  _ now _ do you want to study together?” 

Cas considered her for a moment out of the corner of his eye. She was bright and open and, well, everything that Cas couldn’t seem to be. Ridiculous as it was, being that a possible friend had just fallen in his lap, he wanted to say no. He just assumed he would do something, say something that would cause her to find him unpleasant. 

But then… Dean didn’t hate him, and neither did his friends. He’d even had an entire conversation with Charlie about  _ Lord of the Rings _ , and she’d made him promise to watch the movies with her after midterms were over. Perhaps people were more forgiving than Castiel gave them credit for. 

“That sounds nice,” he said to Meg, and he thought that maybe, for once, he meant it. 

* * *

“If I look at this for one more goddamn second, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Dean was lying on his stomach on the floor behind Cas’s desk chair, his ancient computer open in front of him. It was near one in the morning, midterms were coming up. Castiel’s head was swimming from staring at supply and demand graphs for the last few hours. 

“What is it?” Cas asked, turning around. 

“Calculus,” Dean groaned. “I can’t deal with these related rates. Everything was making sense until now.” 

“I might be able to help.” 

Dean moved himself to a seated position and patted the ground beside him. 

“You’ve finished most of it,” Cas said, looking at Dean’s computer. “Where’s your work for the problems you’ve missed?” 

“I usually do this kind of stuff in my head.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “And you say  _ I’m _ the genius.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can you help?” 

Cas gave him a look. “I am  _ very  _ good at calculus.”

Dean put up his hands defensively.

“Look,” Cas said, “You just have to identify which variable is actually changing. Here, it’s the radius. So you’ll take your derivative with respect to the radius.”

“Damn,” Dean said. “If someone would have told me that, like, a week ago, this would have made so much more sense. Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course.”

Cas ended up bringing his own computer to the floor to study while Dean finished his homework. He moved onto a different subject — it was simply too late for econ. He was reviewing ancient Greek philosophers and their beliefs when Dean rolled over on his back with a groan. He rested his head on top of Castiel’s crossed legs. The action nearly made him jump. He tried not to stare too intently. 

“Dude, I’m hungry,” he said.

“Hungry?” Cas repeated. “I would have expected you to say, ‘tired,’ but not ‘hungry.’”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure they say it’s good luck to eat Taco Bell while studying calculus at three in the morning,” Dean said, pulling on a flannel.

“ _ I’m _ pretty sure no one ever says that,” Cas replied. 

“I’m saying it now. C’mon.” 

Cas pulled on a sweatshirt — it was cold for October — and followed Dean out the door. 

“I haven’t driven you anywhere, have I?” Dean asked when they reached the dorm parking lot. 

“Not that I can remember.”

“Oh, wait til you see her,” Dean said, excited. “My car, my  _ baby _ . You’ll be floored.” 

Dean stopped at an old, black muscle car, parked at the far end of the lot, away from the rest of the cars. Castiel could see the Chevrolet logo on the back. 

“It’s quite beautiful,” he said, and Dean grinned at him. 

“Isn’t she? 1967 Chevy Impala. My dad gave her to me when I turned sixteen. She was a beater then — I had to drop a new engine  _ and  _ get her reupholstered. But she was worth it.” 

“You rebuilt it yourself?” Castiel asked, impressed. 

“I had a little help, but mostly, yeah.” 

Dean unlocked the doors, and the two slid into the car. The interior looked as if Dean had just driven the car off the lot hours prior. 

“You must take very good care of this car,” Cas observed. “I’ve never seen anything so clean.” 

“Like I said, she’s worth it,” Dean replied, bringing the engine to a low roar. Cas was about to remark on the sound, when something on top of the dash caught his eye. 

A half-empty package of Marlboros. 

Dean turned to him, about to say something, but dropped his smile seeing Cas staring at the cigarettes. 

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t smoke in here,” he said. “Only outside. Just keep ‘em in here ‘cause you know. Dorms.” 

Cas nodded once. He’d never known anyone who smoked. “That’s—“

“Filthy habit, I know,” Dean interrupted. “I know.”

“I was going to say it’s good you don’t smoke in your car. Seeing as you put so much work into it,” Cas clarified, clearing his throat. Dean hadn’t shown a lick of judgement toward Castiel in the whole two months of their friendship. That wasn’t lost on Cas. He wasn’t about to turn his nose up at something as trivial as a nicotine addiction. 

Dean stared at him a moment before choking out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“It is… Quite bad for you, though,” Castiel added after a moment. “How long have you been..?”

“Since I was sixteen,” Dean answered. “It was… Well, we were living in Terrell, Texas at the time. Not much to do down there. I was skipping class with some guys and, well, you get the idea. Man, I thought my dad was going to be so pissed.” 

“Was he?”

Dean pursed his lips as he reversed out of the parking spot. “No. I mean, it wasn’t like he was proud, but more like he… Saw it comin’, I guess. He ain’t exactly a role model, anyway -- ever since Mom died, he’s had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.” 

“How did he find out?”

“Went through my room one time -- he thought I was stealing his liquor -- and found ‘em under my bed. He didn’t tell Sammy, though, so at least there’s that.” 

Castiel was quiet. The light from the streetlamps reflected on the road, wet from an earlier rainstorm. Wichita was disconcertingly empty at this hour, with most working people asleep and most college students at the library, studying for the upcoming exams. 

Dean broke the silence. “I keep saying I’m gonna quit, you know?” He shook his head. “It’s harder than it seems. I don’t even know what I miss more when I’m off of ‘em -- the ritual or the buzz.” 

“I can’t pretend I understand,” Cas said slowly, “I’ve never experienced it. But I know cigarettes are very difficult to leave behind. I don’t think you’re alone in that.” 

“I guess.” 

They pulled into the Taco Bell drive thru, which, to Castiel, was shockingly busy. 

“I’ve never told anyone about this,” Dean said, pointing to the cigarettes. “‘Cause it makes me feel like a dumbass. It’s the twenty-first century, you know, what kind of kid gets addicted to cigarettes?” He laughed quietly. “But it feels good, you knowing.” 

Cas smiled softly at him. “You can tell me anything, Dean.”

Dean held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Cas didn’t look away, taking a moment in the dim illumination of the Taco Bell parking lot to study Dean. He had all the hallmarks of a teenage heartthrob — the chiseled face, the dirty blond hair, the green eyes — but there was something rougher there, too, something that Castiel could never discern. 

Dean finally looked away and cleared his throat. “What do you want, man?” 

“I’m fine, really,” Cas said. 

“Dude.” 

“ _ Hi welcome to Taco Bell, what can I get for you, _ ” a bored female voice called from the speaker. 

“Hi ma’am, could I just get two crunchwraps, a large diet Coke, and a water, please?” 

“ _ Is that all?” _

“Yes, ma’am.”

_ “Total is eight thirty-two at the window.”  _

“Thanks.” 

Dean rolled the Impala’s window back up and took out his wallet. 

“What’s a crunchwrap?” Cas asked him when they were able to pull away from the speaker box. Dean’s head shot up, his eyes shocked. 

“You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never been to Taco Bell.”

“I’ve been to Taco Bell, Dean, I’ve just never heard of a crunchwrap,” Cas deadpanned. 

“Well, ain’t you in for a treat,” Dean said.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“Yeah, and I got two anyways.” Dean shot him a grin. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” 

Cas reached into his pocket for his own wallet. “At least let me --”

He was cut off by Dean pulling up to the window and thrusting a wad of cash at the man working.

“Thanks, man,” he said when he received the brown paper bag and the two drinks. He set the bag on Castiel’s lap and handed him the water, keeping the diet Coke in his hand as he sped off out of the drive thru. 

Dean pulled into a parking spot back at the dorm, and the two exited the Impala. The smell emanating from the bag in Castiel’s hands was making him hungry, and he was suddenly thankful that Dean had thought to order him something. 

Dean walked to the front of the car and sat down and motioned for Cas to do the same. He did, taking out one of the crunchwraps and handing it to Dean. He unwrapped his own, but at Dean’s expectant stare, raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is a  _ very  _ important moment,” Dean replied. “Go on.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but took a bite. He closed his eyes — he was hungrier than he thought — and when he had finished chewing, said, “This is very good.” 

“I knew it!” Dean said, triumphant. 

So they sat on the hood of the Impala, Dean emphatically recounting his worst Taco Bell-hangover experiences, Castiel laughing loudly and honestly, stealing sips of Dean’s diet Coke (“What the hell, Cas?” “Well, seeing as you failed to get me a drink more interesting than water”). And when the food was gone, Dean asked if he could smoke, and Cas felt strangely warm and brokenhearted watching his best friend light a cigarette by his side. 

It was near four in the morning when they returned to their room. Dean collapsed onto a pink beanbag he had brought to their dorm days earlier. When Cas had raised an eyebrow at the new addition, Dean had said, “Shut up. They’re comfy, and this was all Wal-Mart had.” 

“Shit. I’m gonna be dead tomorrow,” Dean said, sighing. 

“This was definitely not the most prudent decision,” Castiel agreed as he sat down in his own desk chair. Dean reached for his TV remote.

“Have you ever seen  _ Tombstone _ ?” He asked suddenly. At a shake of the head from Cas, he shot up. “Dude, you’ll love it. It’s one of my favorite movies.” 

Dean moved to his desk drawer and procured a DVD case. He took out the disk and gave Cas the plastic case. 

“It’s a western?” Cas asked after seeing the promotional picture. 

“Hell yes,” Dean said as he put the disk in his DVD player, “And it’s friggin’ awesome.” 

“Dean, it’s already four a.m.,” Cas pointed out. Dean waved him off. 

“Right, no point in trying to get any sleep now. We gotta commit to the all-nighter. Come on.”  
Cas rolled his eyes, but relaxed back into his chair, anyway, prepared to watch the movie. 

Dean turned the lights off, and the title menu illuminated the dark room. He sat back down in the beanbag, but turned to Cas before he pressed “play.”

“Dude, what are you doing?” 

Cas tilted his head in consternation. “Um… Waiting for you to start the movie?” 

“You’re going to watch it from all the way back there?” 

“Yes?” It came out as a question. 

“Like hell. The screen is tiny.” He patted the beanbag. “This thing is big enough for the both of us.”

Castiel seriously doubted that, but got up anyway. Dean adjusted his position so he was only taking up half of the beanbag space. Cas sat down carefully next to him. He tried not to notice Dean’s shoulder pressed against his, the way one wrong move would land his hand squarely in Dean’s lap. Dean hit “play.”

Dean spent the first half of the movie commenting on his favorite parts (which mostly consisted of gushing about Val Kilmer’s… everything). When he started nodding off during the second half, Cas suggested that maybe they should go to bed. Dean stubbornly refused, but ended up falling asleep as Wyatt Earp killed Curly Bill. 

“All-nighter,” Cas mumbled to himself upon noticing Dean’s open-mouthed snores. He, too, was exhausted, fighting to stay awake. Cas was moments away from nodding off when Dean shifted. He curled onto his side, his head now placed firmly on top of Cas’ shoulder. 

Cas froze. Had he woken up? A snore answered the question with a resounding “no.” 

Cas knew he should move. He should turn the TV off, set his seven-thirty alarm, and climb up to his bed to sleep. But he was  _ so  _ tired. And Dean was warm, pressed against his side. And it didn’t matter, anyway. It didn’t  _ mean  _ anything. 

Cas didn’t have time to consider why he felt the need to point that out to himself in the first place. The TV remained on, his alarm remained off. He fell asleep, contentedly breathing in the scent of rain and cigarette smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhh i got it up today!!! sorry for so many short chapters at the beginning, they're getting longer now! thanks as always for reading, commenting, leaving kudos... y'all motivate me so much :))))


	7. The Gift of Memory's an Awful Curse

**Present**

Dean woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before answering with a groggy “Hello?”

“Dean.” It was Bobby’s voice on the other line. “How you feelin’?”

“Fan-friggin’-tastic.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Bobby chastised. “The guy who drove you to the hospital came by the shop yesterday, told me what the doctor said.” Dean groaned. “You’re not comin’ back in until Thursday, you hear?” 

“Come on, Bobby,” Dean protested, rubbing his eyes with a free hand. “Honestly, I’m already feelin’ loads better.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Bobby deadpanned. “No, you stay at home and get some rest. I can hold the fort for a week.” 

“Whatever you say, old man. Hey, have you looked at Ca- at the guy’s car?” 

“Barely. But, seein’ as it’s an old Honda, my best guess is valves are bent.” Bobby was quiet for a moment, then, “Dean, the guy told me his name was Cas Novak.” 

Dean closed his eyes, silently begging the powers that be to grant him strength. “Weird name.” 

Bobby snorted. “So you’re tellin’ me that’s not the same Cas Novak you met at WSU? The same one you brought home for Christmas? Well, that’s mighty strange, considerin’ he looks _exactly_ like —”

“All right, all right,” Dean said. “Yes, it’s him. Why are we talking about this, anyway?” 

“Just wonderin’.”

“Is Ellen still comin’ down for Christmas?” Dean asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Castiel. 

“She called this mornin’, said she and Jo’d be here on the 23rd.” 

Ellen and Jo were family, mutual friends of John and Bobby. Since Dean could remember, John had been sending him and Sam back home to Lawrence to spend Christmas with Bobby. He didn’t realize until he was older that it was less “go have fun with your Uncle Bobby,” and more “I can’t stand the holidays and would like to be unconscious for most of them.” A few years before his dad died, when Dean was maybe fifteen, the Harvelle’s started joining them. It became a tradition, the Harvelle-Singer-Winchester Christmas affair. 

“I can’t wait to see ‘em,” Dean said, smiling up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, well. When’s Sam gettin’ in?”

“Tonight,” Dean replied. He looked at his watch. Was it really already noon? “‘Round eight, I think.”

“Damn, am I excited to see that boy,” Bobby said. “Well, you two head down here when he’s done gettin’ settled. He’s finally old enough to have a few beers.” 

Dean rubbed his mouth for a moment. “Bobby,” he said, “he’s not even gonna _be here_. Well, he is, but he’s hangin’ out with some girl in friggin’ Kansas City after Christmas.” 

“Good for him. ‘Bout damn time, too, he hasn’t even mentioned a girl since that Ruby broke his heart when he was sixteen.” 

Dean thought he was going to explode. Was he the only one who saw how cosmically _wrong_ this whole thing was? 

“Right,” he grumbled. “Well, I gotta go to the store, get some actual food in the house.” Dean pretty much lived off of ham sandwiches and the occasional fast food burger. “I’ll see you later.” 

Dean stood up, testing the waters of movement. He didn’t immediately feel like vomiting, and the room didn’t start spinning, both good signs. Turning on the light in the kitchen, he noticed he still had a mild light-sensitivity, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Satisfied, he grabbed his keys and the sunglasses Cas had given him, and headed out the door. 

As he drove to the Wal-Mart at the edge of town, he wondered idly if he would see Cas again. Dean supposed, at the very least, he might see Cas when he and Bobby had his car fixed. Unless Bobby fixed it before Dean got back to work. He snorted at the thought. That was unlikely. 

Thinking about Cas led Dean to thinking about his final days in Wichita, as it always did. He didn’t remember most of that May, or the rest of the year, for that matter. He’d spent the nights drunk and the days endlessly hungover. Dean couldn’t remember going to a single class after his father died in January.

What Dean _could_ remember, what he always remembered, was Cas. Cas waiting for him to return from whatever dorm party he had found, Cas forcing him to drink water, Cas taking his vomit-stained clothes to the laundromat. Cas bandaging his hand after he punched the brick wall of their dorm room one too many times. Cas holding him as he cried.

A honk startled Dean from his thoughts, and he realized he was sitting at a light that had obviously been green for far too long. He sped forward. Maybe he _wasn’t_ okay to drive. 

Dean groaned as he pulled into the parking lot. It was packed. He wasn’t sure what he expected — Christmas was little more than a week away. _Shit_ . He had been so busy in the shop that he had forgotten to buy a single gift. Bobby was easy — a fifth of Maker’s Mark and new trucker cap would be enough to bring tears to his eyes. Sam was more difficult; he lived in a different world. Dean thought he remembered that Sam liked _Lord of the Rings_ in high school… 

The year before, Dean had written him a check for ten thousand dollars, with “college” written in the memo. Sam had tried to give it back after realizing that was essentially Dean’s entire savings account, built up from working at Singer Auto Repair during the day and bartending the college joints at night. Two years straight. When Dean refused to take it back, saying, “You go and you get a damn degree, all right?”, Sam hugged him until he couldn’t breathe. Dean smiled at the memory. No way he was outdoing himself this year. 

Dean picked up the basics from Wal-Mart — eggs, milk, some salad kits for Sam, a couple bags of coffee, some orange juice. He felt like a douchebag, wearing the sunglasses inside, but the fluorescents were unbearable. He grabbed two six-packs of beer to bring to Bobby’s, then surreptitiously added a pack of hard seltzers for his apartment, because, hey, he liked to switch it up. 

Dean paid for his groceries and headed to the liquor store to pick up the whiskey for Bobby. Upon seeing a case of boozy eggnog, he couldn’t help remembering his first and only Thanksgiving in Wichita. They downed two pints of the stuff while watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Dean teased that maybe Cas, with his angelic namesake, was secretly an angel. His own, personal Clarence. Then he fashioned a halo out of toilet paper and they laughed until their ribs hurt. 

Dean grabbed a pint at the last second. For good measure. 

* * *

Sam arrived at Dean’s apartment just after eight, and, Kansas City be damned, Dean was beyond happy to see him. Sam coughed out a laugh as Dean whacked him on the back in the midst of a hug. 

“‘S good to see you, Sammy,” Dean said, radiating warmth. “Let’s go, Bobby’s itchin’ to give you a beer.” 

Dean let Sam drive the Impala to Bobby’s, peppering him with questions about UT the whole time. Sam gushed about his pre-law classes, which Dean tolerated only because he had just gotten home. 

“How’s your head?” Sam asked when he had finished nerding out.

“Fine,” Dean replied. “Fluorescents still make it hurt like a bitch, but honestly, I’m fine.” 

Sam turned into the shop parking lot, the windows of Bobby’s apartment above providing the only light against the dark. “Hey, you never really answered my question yesterday.”

“What question?”

“That guy, who drove you to the hospital,” Sam said, carefully. “Was it Cas?”

Dean shut his eyes, willing himself against getting out and slamming the door behind him. He was not looking forward to this conversation. “Yeah. It was Cas.” 

“He’s back?” 

“No. I don’t know, man, he’s on his way to Kansas City for some big boy job.”

“Did you guys… You know…” 

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “What, did we kiss and make up like some Hallmark movie?”

“Dean —”

“Sam, just leave it,” he growled. “Come on. Bobby’s waitin’.” The kid had been home for thirty minutes, and he was already giving Dean a headache. 

Bobby greeted them with the biggest smile Dean had ever seen him wear. He pulled Sam into a tearful hug and clapped Dean on the shoulder. The three made their way to the kitchen.

Dean was driving, and still concussed, so he contented himself with a diet Coke and a few slices of the pizza Bobby had ordered while Bobby got beers for Sam and himself. Sam asked how the shop was going, earning about ten minutes of Bobby begrudgingly praising Dean for all his hard work. Dean fidgeted in his seat, face flamed from the compliments, doing his best to insist that it was a team effort, really. Sam beamed at him. 

Dean changed the subject, prompting Sam to tell them both about college, despite having already heard the spiel on the drive over. Dean let his mind wander while Sam talked.

Bobby had been the one to call when Dean’s father had died. Dean remembered, it was the Friday after his nineteenth birthday, a cold January afternoon. Neither he nor Cas had any class on Fridays, and they were watching _Dead Poets Society_ for a late birthday celebration. 

_“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this. Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”_

_“Dean, I hate to be the one to tell you this. John…”_

_“Dad? What’s wrong?”_

_“He’s dead, son. I’m sorry.”_

Dean had dropped his cell phone on the floor. It shattered. 

Dean remembered emptying his school backpack and filling it with clothes, his toothbrush, some shampoo. He walked straight to the Impala, his hands shaking, tears clouding his vision. 

_“Dean. Dean! What happened?”_

_“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.”_

_“Dean, where are you going? The party — there’s class on Monday!”_

_“Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.”_

He’d made it to Lawrence in record time.

He hadn’t even told Bobby he was coming, but he was waiting for Dean anyway. He found out that John had had one too many at the bar that night, but insisted on driving home, anyway. He ran into a tree going sixty, died on impact. Sam had been spending the night with a friend. Bobby drove him down to Amarillo, where John had been working one of his odd-jobs that was sure to dead-end when he started leaving beer bottles on site. Dean didn’t speak the whole way there, not until they picked Sammy up. Sam was crying. Dean wished he could cry, too. He felt like he was going to fracture into a million pieces. But he’d felt that before. Not this bad, never this bad, but broken all the same. He did what he always did. He hugged Sammy tight and told him it was going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. 

The next thirty-six hours were spotty. A small funeral, just the three of them. Dean telling Bobby he wasn’t going back to school, he had to take care of Sam. Bobby staring daggers. _He’d_ take care of Sam, Dean would finish that degree if it was the last thing he did. An argument, the only time Bobby had ever yelled at him. Dean and Sam sitting on the couch, sharing headphones and listening to Black Sabbath. Bobby pushing him out the door. Driving back to Wichita, numb.

The painful memory was interrupted when Bobby said his name. 

“...We’d love to meet her, right Dean?” 

Dean shook his head and blinked. “What?”

“Sam’s girl,” Bobby supplied. Sam blushed, looking at Dean. 

“What about her?” Dean grumbled. 

“I was gonna bring her around,” Sam said. 

Dean wanted to be righteously angry with Sam for not telling him sooner, and for dipping out on him at the first sight of something better. But the kid just looked so damn _hopeful_.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d love to meet her.” 

They stayed at Bobby’s until midnight, reminiscing about past Christmases, the years Sam and Dean spent under Bobby’s roof. Eventually, Bobby whined about being too old to stay up so late, and that was their cue. Sam was properly tipsy, and Dean was exhausted. They bade each other good night, and Dean and Sam headed home. 

Dean didn’t bother putting on music for the fifteen-minute drive. The Impala was silent as Dean drove, watching the yellow streetlights pass.

“Dean,” Sam said, “What’s up with you today?” 

He was talking with the level of verve only achievable through alcohol. Dean gripped the steering wheel a little harder. Drunk people always asked too many questions. 

“Nothing.”

“No, no, _no_ , man.” Sam waved his hand for emphasis. “You’re messed up. You’ve _been_ messed up. You know what —” he shifted upright in his seat “—you gotta talk to Cas.” 

“I’m not gonna do that,” Dean said shortly. 

“ _Why_ not?” Sam demanded. 

“I’m just not, okay? Jesus. You need to go to sleep.” 

“Not true,” Sam argued. “Listen, I know that he left or whatever, but I’m sure he had a good reason, you know, and you _loved_ him, Dean —”

Dean slammed on the brakes. The Impala screeched to a halt as the light in front of them turned red. 

“What?” He asked in a low voice. “What did you say?”

Sam scoffed at him. “I mean, you weren’t trying to hide it or anything.” 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “Stop talking. I mean it.” 

“I’m just saying, the way you talked about him, the way you two were at Christmas, I’m pretty sure nothing he could have done —”

Dean punched the steering wheel. The Impala’s horn sounded. Sam looked at him in shock. The light was green. Dean took a deep breath and hit the gas, both hands gripping the wheel for dear life, now. 

“We’re done talking about this,” Dean said. 

He felt like he was having deja vu. After Cas left school, just after spring break, Bobby had called Dean to see how he was getting on. He’d put Sam on the phone. Sam was only fourteen, but already smart as hell, sometimes able to see through Dean’s bullshit. 

_“How’s Cas?”_

_“He’s a shithead, that’s how he is.”_

_“Dean, what? I thought —”_

_“Yeah, well, stop thinking. Fucker is gone. Guess he found someplace better to be.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“Fuck if I know. But this is the last time I’m talking about that son of a bitch.”_

Dean pulled up to his apartment, anger and regret swirling in his head. He shouldn’t have yelled at Sam. He knew that. But Sam — well, sober Sam — knew better than to bring up Cas in any capacity. 

Sam exited the Impala silently. Dean’s outburst must have been enough to shatter the alcoholic haze. Dean locked the doors and led Sam up to his door. 

“What’s that?” Sam asked. 

Dean looked up from fumbling with his keys. There was a brown paper bag taped to his door, his name written on the front in clean, capital letters. 

“No clue,” Dean replied, ripping the bag off the door. He unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom. 

“Dean, come on,” Sam started, but Dean interrupted him. 

“We can talk about it in the morning. Get some rest,” he grumbled. 

Dean closed the bedroom door and set the bag down on his bed. He took off his jacket. Shed his t-shirt. Unlaced his boots. Splashed some water on his face. Brushed his teeth. Traded his jeans for sweatpants. 

Finally, when he could avoid it no longer, he opened the bag. 

Inside was… the _Tombstone_ DVD. Dean picked it up, brow furrowed. He opened it, and the disk was there, along with a Starbucks napkin, tucked into the left side. This, too, had his name in that same, clean script. He unfolded the napkin, and read:

_DEAN—_

_I WAS IN THE AREA THIS EVENING, SO I STOPPED BY TO SEE HOW YOU WERE FEELING, BUT YOU WERE OUT. YOU GAVE THIS TO ME IN COLLEGE. IT’S ABOUT TIME I RETURNED IT TO YOU._

_IF YOU NEED ANYTHING, FEEL FREE TO CALL._

— _CAS_

Cas had written his phone number below the note. Dean frowned as he looked at the DVD once more. That dumbass. Dean had _given_ it to him, it had been a _gift_. If this was some sort of peace offering, it was crap. He grabbed his phone and punched in the number. 

_DW (12:52 am)_

_movie was a gift, u keep those_

_DW (12:53 am)_

_but i guess u don’t want shit from me anymore_

He knew he was being a dick, but, well, Cas had been a dick first. And it was late, anyway. Cas was probably already asleep. He didn’t expect a response tonight. Actually, he didn’t expect any response, at any time. He threw his phone on the pillow and got up to turn out the lights. 

Dean flopped into bed, but was surprised to feel his phone buzz.

_CN (12:55 am)_

_Apologies. I did not intend to upset you._

Dean squinted in consternation. Why was Cas even awake — wasn’t he some capital-A-adult, now? He was an accountant, with a job at an honest-to-god _accounting firm_. Shouldn’t he eat his BLT for dinner and be in bed by eight p.m.? Dean snorted at his own mental image. 

He didn’t bother to respond, finding nothing more to say. He laid back down in bed, but his thoughts were too loud for sleep. He stared at the ceiling fan. It offered no advice. 

Dean sighed. He was pissed. At Sam, at Cas, at himself. Still at his dad, always at his dad. So he did what he always did when he had nowhere to direct the anger. 

“You motherfucker,” he whispered to the fan. “You waltz in here, with your college degree and your cushy office job. You drive me to the hospital and pretend you care. Well, guess what, you’re not allowed to care. You left, okay? We were friends, we were… We were family. I needed you, but you didn’t care then. So you can’t care now. You don’t get to come back here and remind me of everything I almost had. Fuck you. In every possible language, fuck you, man.” 

The pressure behind his eyes lessened. The anger was still there, still burning beneath the surface, but this was enough for now. A temporary catharsis. A way to keep his sanity. He didn’t believe in God — couldn’t, really, after everything — but this was the closest thing he had to a prayer. He’d started after John died, after he’d realized that burying the guilt and the sadness in alcohol was killing him. When Sam got the scholarship to UT, he’d done it again, voicing the jealousy and fear that he’d never allow himself in the daylight. He didn’t know if it was healthy, but he also didn’t care. It kept him going. He could walk into work every day with a smirk on his face, call Sammy and crack jokes, flirt with female customers after he changed their oil. Screaming into the void kept the “passed-out drunk” nights to a minimum. It kept him from becoming his father.

His only lifeline. He was not, would never be, John Winchester.


	8. An Exercise in Futility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: multiple mentions of homophobic family members, verbal abuse, alcoholism, smoking. (also passing mentions of jail time and arson)  
> special thanks to tumblr user alwayss-reading for proofing this chapter for me :) ily forever <3

**Three Years Earlier**

Castiel was convinced that his life was one massive, cosmic joke.

He’d been considering the possibility for some time. Being the gay son of a homophobic pastor does that to a person. When he discovered, sometime around the age of twelve, that the girls in his Sunday school class were far less interesting than the boys, he could practically feel God laughing at him. Then there was high school, where the religious prattling was replaced by what felt like endless torment at the hands of his peers. 

He felt like college was quickly becoming the third punchline.

Not that things were bad. Things were good, actually, better than they’d been in years. He was learning about things he cared about. He passed his midterms with flying colors. He even had friends. He spent a weekend watching all of the  _ Lord of the Rings _ with Charlie. He had switched seats in accounting to sit next to Meg.

And, of course, there was Dean. Dean, who dragged Cas to a football game and didn’t drink a sip of alcohol the whole time in solidarity; Dean, who, after  _ Tombstone _ , insisted on movie night every Tuesday; Dean, who, demanded that Cas print out a copy of one of his short stories and sign it (“When you’re a famous douchebag, this is gonna be worth so much money”).

It seemed that, on all fronts, Castiel had finally capitalized on the collegiate promise of a second chance. 

But by his own estimation, he was doomed.

Because sometimes, his palms started sweating when Dean stood too close. Sometimes, his heartbeat skipped when Dean threw an arm across Cas’s shoulders. Sometimes, Cas woke up from a dream so vivid, he was disappointed to find himself alone in his bunk bed.

He could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Dean Winchester, what with the blond hair and green eyes, bright smiles and southern lilt, funny jokes and considerate actions. The prospect was utterly terrifying, and Castiel was doing everything in his power to stop dwelling on it.

He’d been down the “falling in love with your straight best friend” road before. AP biology class brought Cas a lab partner in Ben Wright. Soccer team captain, A-student, all around nice guy. Maybe Ben didn’t do anything to stop the constant verbal torment, but he never took part in it. At first, being around him was exhilarating. Sharing looks, catching smiles, trading inside jokes; Cas was intoxicated. He was so high on first love that he made the mistake of confiding in Bartholomew. Cas had always considered him to be a role model, friend  _ and  _ brother at the same time. But that night, when Cas came out, Bartholomew looked at him like one might look at spoiled food. He’d agreed not to tell their father, on the condition that Cas never speak about the matter again, that he figure out some way to “cleanse himself.” They hadn’t spoken since that night.

And so the feelings that once propelled Castiel to school with anticipation suddenly made him dread it. Not only did baring his soul to a brother get him a one-way ticket to estrangement, but Ben started dating someone else, a girl from his English class. Now every shared look was painful, smiles were false, inside jokes stopped being funny.

It was somehow worse, knowing Ben could never feel the same way. It certainly didn’t help the feelings of guilt and shame brought by his family.

Cas would do anything not to feel that way again. 

He started by insisting that Dean invite Benny and Charlie to more of their nightly dinners. And while he honestly liked the both of them, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that their presence was, first and foremost, a distraction from Dean. He took up running again, as a way to get himself out of the dorm when Dean decided to stay in. He spent more time studying with Meg.

Meg was shockingly easy to befriend. She wasn’t nice — Cas had watched in shock when, once, she dumped a hot coffee on a skateboarder who had knocked her down on accident — but she never said a mean thing to Castiel. She was like him **:** a black sheep, the child everyone wished they could forget. Only, where Cas had become an agnostic and gone to college, Meg had become a Satanist and gone to jail for arson.

But this was her new leaf, she told him. Maybe it didn’t matter why someone needed a second chance, only that they were willing to take one.

They had been working for an hour when she threw her pen at his head and said, “Cas, you should come with me to Sig Ep’s Halloween party tomorrow. Be my date.”

Cas took a moment to process the meaning of party + date + with Meg. “Uh, I don’t — well, um, parties aren’t really —”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re allowed to say no, hun.”

Cas panicked. Meg was looking at him expectantly, her resigned smile making it clear she was prepared for rejection.

“Well, I… It’s not because of you — you’re very beautiful, and smart. Actually, you’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve met here.” She grinned at that. “It’s just, I don’t really… Go on dates. With girls.”

She studied him a moment before understanding lit up her face. “ _ Oh _ .”

Castiel fidgeted with his pencil, refusing to meet her eyes. He’d only ever done this once, and it hadn’t gone well. But he liked having a friend, and more than that, he liked having Meg as a friend. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested because of any fault of her own.

“Cas,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she poked him in the arm. “ _ Castiel. _ ” He raised his eyes. “It’s cool. It’s not like you can just choose to like girls when a pretty one asks you on a date.”

“I… Understand, if you would rather not be friends,” Cas said, cautiously.

“What?” Meg’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Why would I not want to be friends?” She laughed a little. “That would be super ironic, considering I told you I went to  _ juvie _ and you didn’t bat an eye.”

“Because I’m gay,” Cas said quietly, looking down again.

Meg grabbed both his hands. “Cas, hun, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

He looked up again, eyes wide. “What? I mean,  _ I  _ know that, I just… Not everyone does.”

Meg smiled sadly at him and gripped his hands a little tighter. “Well, I do. No biggie. We’re going to be iconic together, you and I. Sexiest gay-straight alliance of all time.”

Cas smiled weakly, relief flooding his entire body. “Thank you, Meg. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make any judgements on your character. It’s just… This,” he motioned at the air between them, “has never gone well for me.”

Meg shook her head. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think I can tell that you — all the parts of you — are awesome.”

“You can still come to the party,” she added after a moment.

Cas shook his head, capping and uncapping his pen repeatedly. “Parties… They’re not really my scene.”

“All right. You know who to call if you change your mind.”

* * *

On Halloween, Castiel returned from his nightly run to find Dean pulling on a flannel. He checked his watch — he had barely made it. 6:57 pm.

“Right on time,” Dean said. “I was about to leave without you.”

“I would have never forgiven you if you did,” Cas joked. Then, “Are Charlie and Benny coming?”

“Nah, they’re both busy tonight. Halloween parties, you know.”

“Oh.” Castiel took a large sip of his water. “You’re not attending a Halloween party?”

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t really feeling it tonight. Plus, I have a feeling you’ve never seen  _ The Exorcist _ ?” When Cas shook his head, Dean rubbed his hands together. “Oh man, we are totally watching it tonight. Unless you’re busy,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Cas.

“I’m not,” Cas replied. Dean knew this already, of course, otherwise Cas might have made something up. The waters in which he tread got more dangerous each day. He couldn’t escape the warm feeling flooding his chest at the idea of Dean ditching the parties for a movie night.

It was precisely that feeling that caused him to hurriedly ask, “Would you mind if I invited Meg to dinner?”

“Who?” Dean asked, lacing up his boots.

“Meg Masters. She’s the friend from accounting that I told you about.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “Right. What, just me isn’t good enough anymore?” Cas thought he was joking, but it seemed forced.

“Dean —”

“I’m kidding, man,” Dean said with a short laugh. “Sure, she can come.”

Castiel hurriedly splashed his face with cold water and shed his sweaty t-shirt in favor of a hoodie. Dean feigned a sniff in his direction and made a face, to which Cas replied with an eye-roll. As they left their dorm, Cas sent a text to Meg.

_ CN (7:02 pm) _

_ Would you like to get dinner with Dean and me? _

_ CN (7:02 pm) _

_ Unless you’re already at your party, in which case, be safe. _

_ MM (7:03 pm) _

_ Party not til later. hot roommate dean? _

_ CN (7:04 pm) _

_...Is that a yes? _

_ MM (7:04 pm) _

_ Yes please ;) shocker dining? _

_ CN (7:05 pm) _

_ Yes. We’ll meet you there. _

Dean grabbed a burger and an inordinate amount of fries while Castiel loaded his plate with spaghetti and a salad. Meg walked into the dining room just after he and Dean sat down, and Cas waved her over.

“Meg,” he said, offering her the seat next to his, “this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Meg Masters.” Dean smiled at her with a mouthful of french fries. Cas dropped his head in exasperation.

“Pleasure,” Meg said with a half-cocked smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean shrugged. “I am pretty awesome. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

Cas went bright red. He shot Dean a glare, then turned to Meg. “He’s joking —”

Meg’s grin only widened, and she giggled. “It’s all right, Cas, I’m not very interesting.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He became extremely intent upon eating his dinner.

Dean stared at her for a moment, chewing a bite of burger. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You know Cas from accounting?”

“That’s right,” Meg said brightly.

“So he’s your tutor or somethin’?”

Cas interjected. “Actually, Meg is far more capable than I am. She essentially taught me everything about liabilities.”

“Adorable,” Dean grumbled.

“Isn’t it?” Meg asked sweetly. “And you’re his roommate.”

“Yep.”

“Lucky you.” She gave him a wink. Dean choked on his diet Coke, and Castiel prayed to whomever was listening that he might cease to exist.

“Meg,” he said, giving her a pointed look, “did you finish the homework?”

She pulled her eyes away from Dean. “Yeah, I did.” She dropped her voice. “Did you want to go over it? At my place?” She winked at Cas, who stared at her in horror. Why was she acting like this? “You know,” Meg continued, “We can do  _ other _ things too. Besides accounting.”

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “I’m gonna go grab some more fries. Do y’all want anything?” 

Cas and Meg shook their heads. When Dean had left the table, Cas gave Meg a death stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” He hissed. “I thought we covered this —”

“Yes, Cas, hun, I know you’re extraordinarily gay,” Meg said with an eyeroll. “I’m not  _ actually  _ interested. I’m just conducting an experiment.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What ‘experiment’—”

He closed his mouth abruptly and leaned away from Meg when he saw Dean returning from the buffet line. He returned to his seat, looking between Cas and Meg suspiciously. Cas downed his water in one swift action.

“So, Dean,” Meg said after taking a bite of her pizza. “I hear you’re educating our friend here on pop culture.”

Dean didn’t bother to look up at her while he swirled a fry in ketchup. “Guess so.” 

Cas cleared his throat to interject. This direction of conversation was much better. “Meg asked what my favorite movie was,” he explained to Dean, who still hadn’t looked up from his plate. “I told her about how much I liked  _ Back to the Future  _ when we watched it last week.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that movie’s friggin’ awesome.”

Cas turned to Meg. “We’re watching  _ The Exorcist  _ tonight.” 

Meg gasped dramatically. “So  _ that’s _ why you blew off our date?”

Dean sputtered into his drink. “Date?” He said through a cough.

Cas looked helplessly at Meg, who unhelpfully smiled back. He was going to have  _ words _ with her after this. 

“I asked him to come to the SigEp party, but he said he was busy,” Meg said, feigning a pout. “But I get it, parties aren’t really Cas’s thing, anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flickered quickly between Cas and Meg. “All right, am I missing something?” He asked. His leg was bouncing against the table leg, hard enough that Cas’s plate was vibrating. 

Cas looked at him, panicked, and stuttered out, “I don’t —”

“Like what?” Meg asked, sipping on her water.

“You his girlfriend or somethin’?”

This question delighted Meg. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Dean turned to Cas with an exasperated look. “Well?” He prodded.

Cas was sure he was about three different shades of red at this point. “What — I —  _ no _ ,” he sputtered.

Dean seemed to relax a little. Meg was still grinning like a madman. “There you go,” she said.

Castiel could not formulate a single coherent thought. He was confused as to how they even ended up here. The silence between the three of them was thick and awkward. Meg paid it no mind, just popped a strawberry in her mouth and gave Dean a sickly sweet smile. Dean excused himself to use the restroom, hitting his leg on the table and nearly tripping over his chair. Once he had left, Meg turned to Cas, her eyes sparkling.

“You are  _ so  _ in,” she said.

“What the  _ hell  _ was that?” He asked her. “What just happened?”

“He thinks I’m into you,” she explained. She took a bite of her pizza, then continued, “And he thinks you  _ might _ be into me. And he hates that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cas scoffed.

Meg laughed, throwing her head back. When Cas fixed her with a glare, her eyes widened. “You really don’t see it?”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing to ‘see’. I already told you.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever, you’ll thank me later.”

“For creating what is perhaps the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had in my life?”

She waved him off. “Don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

Cas gave her a look that suggested otherwise. She sighed.

“Look, the way you talk about him…” Meg grabbed Cas's hand when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. You  _ like  _ him, and now you know he likes you too.” She sat up proudly. “I just did all the heavy lifting for you.”

“Right,” Cas said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Obviously, this interaction points to an inevitable romantic encounter. Except, and I think this is important,  _ Dean is not gay _ .”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Well, the way he looks at you, he’s not straight either. Plus, he apparently still thinks  _ you’re  _ straight, so you two haven’t had that conversation yet. He could be flamingly bisexual and you would never know.”

“This conversation is exhausting.” Cas felt like he was watching a Disney Channel Original Movie, and Meg was a fifteen-year-old matchmaker.

Meg laughed. “I’m sure you’ll survive. By the way, did you actually want to go over the homework this weekend?”

“Yes,” he said, relieved at the change in subject.

Dean returned then. “Are y’all done?” He asked, pointing to their plates. Cas and Meg both nodded, offering “thank you’s” as Dean took their plates to the dish rack. They followed him to the exit, the crisp air sending a chill through Castiel.

“Did you want me to walk back with you, Meg?” Cas offered.

She beamed at him. “You’re so sweet, but no. I’m getting an Uber to Sig Ep, anyway.” She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out something small and black. “Plus, if anyone tries anything, they’ll find themselves electrocuted. Just a little bit.”

Cas grinned. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“See you on Monday, Cas,” Meg said, giving him a hug that lasted just a touch too long. “It was good to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean muttered.

They watched her walk away for a moment. Cas wanted to avoid looking at Dean for as long as humanly possible. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain the previous interaction.

“So,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “She’s… Nice.”

“She is,” Castiel agreed earnestly. “Dean, I’m sorry, Meg can be a bit…” He struggled to find an adequate descriptor. “I think she enjoys others’ discomfort a bit too much, sometimes,” he finished.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It’s not a big deal, man.”

They stood in silence, Dean looking at the ground intently, Cas tugging on the strings of his hoodie. Dean kicked a rock, then sighed. “You, uh, you ready to head back?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

The walk back to their dorm was quiet. Castiel couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Dean looked bothered. He felt bad — he had honestly expected for Meg and Dean to get along. He had thought them to be similar in their confident and boisterous personalities. Now, he wondered if that was precisely the problem. Too much personality at the same dinner table. He winced internally at his own poor judgement. Meg obviously took no issue with the encounter, but he worried that Dean might hold it against him.

Dean let them into their room, then wrinkled his nose at Cas once more. “Dude, seriously, go take a shower. You’re gross.”

“Actually, I enjoy the feeling of my sweat drying all over my skin. I was thinking of going straight to bed like this. It’s not as if I didn’t take a shower because of your constant insistence upon eating meals at the same time every day”

Dean made a gagging motion. “Hey, we had an appointment, and you were almost late. How is that my fault?”

Cas just rolled his eyes and gathered his things to head to the showers. He let out a muttered, “Crap” when he realized nearly all of his laundry was dirty. He’d been busy this week, and running every day tended to render his clothes unwearable after a single use. He made a mental note to do laundry first thing in the morning. He was able to find an old pair of gym shorts, but not a single t-shirt remained in his closet. Cas groaned inwardly. So he would simply have to sit next to Dean for approximately two-and-a-half hours, shirtless. Fantastic.

When he returned from his shower, Cas found Dean cooking two bags of popcorn, the title menu of  _ The Exorcist _ already on screen. Dean stood up from the microwave when Cas entered, and was halfway into a thumbs-up when he did a double take.

“Uh… We goin’ shirtless tonight, Baywatch?” He said, tugging at his collar.

Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, dude.”

Cas sighed as he sat on their beanbag. “I have a lot of laundry to do tomorrow,” he said by way of an explanation.

Dean didn’t respond, but made his way to his own closet. He ruffled through it for a moment before Cas was hit in the face by a t-shirt.

“Here, just wear one of mine,” Dean said. He coughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “‘S kinda cold in here, anyway.”

Cas held up the shirt. It was a Led Zeppelin graphic tee, vintage, from their tour in 1977. Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean.

“It’s pretty awesome right?” Cas donned the t-shirt. “Sammy got it for me from a Goodwill a couple years ago. Another of my prized possessions.” He looked at Cas with feigned scrutiny. “Looks good on you,” he said.

Cas played with the hem as he said, “Thank you.” Dean coughed again and walked back to the microwave to retrieve their popcorn. The air was palpable with awkwardness.

Dean turned out the lights. They settled onto the beanbag, as had become custom in the last few weeks. 

Not even thirty minutes in, Dean’s phone began to ring. “Hey, my brother’s callin’, can you pause it?” Dean said.

Cas obliged, and Dean stood as he said, “Hey, Sammy, how’s it goin’?”

Cas sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap, doing his best not to eavesdrop on Dean’s conversation. Though, he supposed if it was private, Dean could have moved to the hallway. Instead, he leaned against the door, twisting the beaded bracelet on his left hand. 

“He did what?” Dean suddenly yelled, and Cas jumped. Dean shot him a quick apologetic look. “

“Sammy, calm down, it’s okay,” Dean said, and Cas couldn’t pretend to not listen anymore. He looked at Dean with a silent question, but Dean was staring hard at the wall, his free hand balled into a fist. 

“Put him on the phone,” Dean said in a low voice. A pause. “What, so now he’s allowed to treat you like shit whenever he wants?” Another pause. A slow exhale from Dean. “No, you’re right. I don’t… I won’t make it worse.” Pause. “Do you want me to come down there? Because I will, you know I will.” 

Dean was silent for a long moment before asking, “Are you sure?” He sighed at whatever his brother said on the other line. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, I guess. And Sam? I’m really fucking sorry. I should’ve stayed, I don’t…” He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. Yeah. Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” 

Dean lowered the phone from his ear. He stood silently for a moment, angry gaze directed at the floor. Then, causing Cas to jump once more, he turned and hurled his fist at the door. 

There was a loud thud upon impact, and then Dean was yelling “Fuck! Goddammit!” as he cradled his hand. Cas stood abruptly, but had no idea what to do. He walked toward Dean, cautiously.

Dean’s eyes were closed, and he was heaving deep breaths. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “Dean?” He ventured.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, still not looking at Cas. “I just — Fuck, that was so stupid,” he said, shaking out his affected hand. “Sorry,” he repeated to the wall. 

“It’s fine,” Cas said, even though he thought it definitely wasn’t. “What happened?” 

Dean just shook his head. Cas’s hand remained on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, a little nervous that Dean might shove him off. “Dean,” he persisted. “You can tell me.” 

Finally, Dean looked at him, and Cas thought if that level of rage was ever directed at him, he would promptly die. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?” 

“No,” Dean growled. “I gotta — I don’t know, I need to calm down. I don’t actually want to break something,” he said, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna go for a smoke.” 

Cas dropped his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Cas —” Dean started, but Cas silenced him with a look. He grabbed one of Dean’s flannels from his desk chair and threw it at him. Dean caught it with a cross between surprise and irritation. Cas grabbed his own windbreaker and put it on, looking expectantly at Dean. 

“Are we going?” He asked. 

Dean looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether arguing was worth it. A sigh confirmed that it wasn’t. He silently pulled on his flannel and opened the door, ushering Cas through before exiting himself. 

They walked in silence, despite the fervor of Cas’s concern and curiosity at Dean’s outburst. Dean’s jaw was set, and he took a long, slow breath when they hit the crisp fall air. When they reached the Impala, Cas silently moved to lean on the hood while Dean retrieved his lighter and a cigarette. 

Dean joined Cas as he took a long draw. He exhaled the smoke upwards, his eyes closed. His face was still turned to the sky when he asked, “This really doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

Dean brandished his cigarette in answer, turning to raise an eyebrow at Cas. 

Cas shrugged. “It’s not particularly comforting. But, there are worse things.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up thoughtfully. “Besides, you’ve been smoking for years. If anyone could convince you to quit, your random college roommate isn’t the most likely option.” 

Dean gave him a strange look before exhaling another plume of smoke. He coughed a little. “I think you have long passed the line between ‘random roommate’ and ‘new best friend.’”

Cas gave a little chuckle. “That’s good to hear.” Inside, his world was falling down and rebuilding itself anew. Dean thought of Cas as  _ his best friend. _ Cas had never known that feeling, to have someone care about him like that. Cas wondered if that could be enough, being Dean’s best friend. 

He didn’t say anything more, though, just let Dean finish his cigarette. After throwing the butt on the pavement and stomping on it, he heaved a sigh. 

“My dad…” He started, but paused. “He, uh, he said some stuff to Sam. My brother.” 

Cas nodded, doing his best to keep his face neutral. Talking things through wasn’t Dean’s strong suit, and Cas didn’t want dramatics to make it more difficult. 

“What did he say?”

Dean shifted and rubbed his hands together. “Bunch of bullshit. ‘It’s your fault your Mom’s dead, it should have been you instead of her.’” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I mean, he used to say that to me. He gets into these moods when he drinks, says a bunch of shit he doesn’t mean.” 

Dean shoved himself off the hood and began to pace in front of Cas. “But I could take it, you know? Sammy’s just a kid. He doesn’t need to hear that.” 

“Your father says things like this often?” Cas asked, a tinge of horror in his voice. 

“He used to. But only to me. Never to Sam.” 

Cas took a deep breath, trying to discern how best to proceed. “Dean,” he said slowly, “he shouldn’t say those things. Ever. Not to Sam, and not to you.” 

“I’m just confused,” Dean said. “And pissed. Sam and him are usually okay. I mean, they’re not buddies or anything, but Dad leaves him alone for the most part.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” Cas said, “But it seems like your father used you as an outlet for misplaced rage. A punching bag, if you will. And now you’re gone, so Sam is the next best thing.” 

Dean met Cas'seyes with a horrified look. “God. I didn’t… You’re right. Shit, this is my fault, I can’t believe I —”

“No, Dean,” Cas growled. He stood and grabbed Dean by both shoulders. “This is your father’s fault. Not yours.”

“But I left Sam, alone, with him,” Dean said, and Cas could see panic rising in his eyes. “How could I do that, why —”  
Cas interrupted him again. “Why did you decide to attend college, Dean? What’s the real reason?”

“What?” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t know.” 

Cas tilted his head down, skeptical. 

Dean let out a long sigh. “Okay, all right. I went because Sam is smart, and he needs to go. But we don’t have any money. So I figured if I came and got a degree or some shit, I could make enough to throw him some cash while he goes to school. Get some summer internships and save up for his college fund. He’d probably still have to take out loans and stuff, but if I got a good job, I could help him pay them off.” 

Cas wasn’t sure what answer he had expected, but it wasn’t that one. He felt his heart break for the man standing in front of him, who did everything he could and more for the people he cared about and never felt like it was enough. 

“Would Sam ever hold that against you?” When Dean didn’t respond, Cas continued. “I know I wouldn’t. I have four older siblings, and not a single one of them has ever done something like that for me.”

“But—”

“You’re making yourself miserable over something that isn’t your fault,” Cas said. “Did you have anyone protecting  _ you _ when your father went on a tirade?” 

“No, but—”

“Is Sam incapable of handling himself?”

“ _ No, _ but Cas—”

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas insisted. “You can’t live your whole life as his shield. You’ll break yourself trying.” 

Dean was silent, and wouldn’t meet Cas's eyes. Cas dropped his hands and leaned back against the Impala. “Did you ever think that Sam might have wanted you to go to school simply so you could get yourself out? Did you ever think that Sam hates the way your father treated you as much as you hate what he did to Sam tonight?” 

Dean pursed his lips together, but his jaw relaxed slightly. Finally, he muttered, “I guess I never thought about it like that.” 

Cas felt relief wash over him. He’d never seen Dean like this — angry and frantic. Cas wondered if Dean always did this, shouldered the blame for every bad thing his brother had to endure. The thought made his chest hurt. 

Dean’s hands were hanging limply at his side. He looked exhausted. Against his better judgement, Cas grabbed Dean by the forearm and pulled him into a hug. Dean was still for a moment, but then sighed and rested his head on Cas's shoulder. 

“Sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean to act like that, punching things and shit. I just get so angry, and I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Cas was trying very hard to form a coherent thought. “There’s no need for apologies. I understand.” 

A chuckle escaped Dean’s lips. “You must think I’m a complete nutjob, huh?” 

Cas tilted his head in consideration. Dean’s hair tickled his cheek. “No. I think your father spent years verbally abusing you, and you’re doing your best in spite of that.” 

Dean broke the hug abruptly. The sudden space between them felt criminal. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s  _ abuse _ …” He started, but, at Cas's look, he trailed off. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, Cas,” he said quietly. “Honestly, dude, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

Cas's cheeks warmed, and he shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. Cas’s heart nearly broke with relief. “I’m beat,” he said. “Bed?” 

Cas nodded eagerly. “Bed.” 

When they reached the stairs, Dean broke the heavy silence.

“So…” He began. There was a false brightness in his voice; he was obviously searching for levity. “You hanging out with your girlfriend tomorrow?” 

“If you’re referring to Meg, she’s still not my girlfriend,” Cas replied vacantly. “And yes.” He suddenly felt exhausted. First the mortifying dinner with Meg, then the heavy conversation with Dean. He hardly had it in him to field jokes about Meg being his girlfriend.

“She’s not your girlfriend  _ yet _ ,” Dean amended, giving Cas a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. 

And what was Cas supposed to say to that? Meg was funny and smart and beautiful. She and Cas studied together on the regular. There was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t be interested in Meg from Dean’s perspective. 

Of course, if Dean knew he was gay… 

Cas didn’t know if he could face the consequences of coming out to Dean. Would he be upset that Cas hadn’t told him earlier? Would he be uncomfortable with a gay man as his roommate? As his friend? Cas may have expanded his social circle, but he still couldn’t bear to lose Dean. 

But, then again, Dean had defended him once already, without knowing whether or not he was gay. He’d sounded indifferent to the possibility then. And just tonight, he’d called Cas his best friend. Dean cared more deeply for his friends and family than anyone Cas had ever met. Cas was in that group. Dean wouldn’t shove him out of it because of who he loved.

Right?

As they reached the entrance to their hall, Dean poked Cas in the shoulder. “Hey, Earth to Major Tom,” he said. “You okay over there?” 

Cas realized he hadn’t said a word since they started their ascent up the stairs. He sighed heavily.

Perhaps this was as good a time as any. 

“Dean,” he said, but closed his mouth. He should just say it. He had nothing to worry about. This wasn’t Bartholomew. He knew that, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“What?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Cas,” he prodded, waving a hand in front of Cas’s face. 

“I’m not…” Cas swallowed. “I will never date Meg,” he finished, with a pointed look. 

Dean side-eyed him as they walked to their door. “What, she’s not your type?” 

Cas gave him a lopsided smile. “You could say that.” 

“I dunno, man, maybe you should reconsider, you two are pretty adorable, in a gross way —”

“ _ Dean _ .” Cas was about to rip his hair out. He wasn’t taking the hint. “She’s not my type. She’s a  _ girl _ .”

Realization dawned on Dean’s face. “ _ Oh _ ,” he said.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner,” Cas said, bracing for the worst. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand —”

“What?” Dean practically shouted. At Cas’s look of surprise, he lowered his voice. “No, Cas, are you kidding? I thought I told you, after all that shit with Cole. It’s not a big deal.”

“Knowing your roommate might possibly be gay and knowing he is, indeed, gay are two very different things.”

Dean looked at Cas like he had just made the worst joke in the world. “I’m not gonna, like, try to move out.” As they approached their room, Cas stared resolutely ahead, walking with purpose. But Dean jumped out in front of him, a hand on Cas’s chest to stop him in his tracks. 

“Dude, it’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me. I lost my shit and punched a door, like, an hour ago, and you barely even blinked.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Cas met Dean’s eyes and found unparalleled sincerity.

“I don’t… You’re not the least bit upset?” Cas asked, slightly incredulous. 

Dean shrugged. “You’re my best friend, Cas,” he said as he straightened. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” He pulled on his bracelet. “I do feel bad though, for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Not that you had to, or anything,” he added in a rush. 

Cas shook his head vigorously. “It has nothing to do with you, Dean. I’m… I’m new at this,” Cas explained. “The first time, with Bartholomew… I believe he was, as you would say, a dick about it.” 

Dean’s eyes turned stormy. “Bastard,” he said. “I’m sorry, Cas. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” 

Cas nodded. “You’re right. It was rather unfortunate. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I told him I was gay.” 

Dean moved back to Cas’s side and slung an arm around his shoulders. “His loss,” he said. “You’re friggin’ awesome, dude.” 

Cas smiled. Dean patted him on the back and let the two of them into their room. 

Cas brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Dean returned minutes later from a shower, and he flipped off the lights as he made his way to his own bunk. 

Cas pulled off Dean’s shirt and threw it across the room. Dean’s head caught it, and he yelped.

“Thank you for the loan,” Cas said, smiling. 

An odd expression crossed Dean’s face before he threw the Zeppelin shirt back to Cas. “Keep it,” he said. When Cas gave him a confused look, he put a hand on the back of his neck. “I meant what I said. Looks good on you.” 

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Doing the Right Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: alcoholism, smoking

**Present**

It was still pitch-dark outside when Dean woke up. He checked the time. 5:22 a.m. He groaned. A product, he guessed, of getting nearly fourteen hours of sleep the day before. He almost tried to go back to bed, but it was useless. He was awake. Gingerly, he applied some pressure to his stitches. Pain bloomed beneath his fingers, but it remained localized. That was encouraging. Dean sat up slowly. He felt the blood rush from his head, and the room spun a little more than usual, but the spikes of pain of the days before were gone. Maybe he’d be fully healed by Monday, and he’d be able to get Cas back on the road sooner than he’d thought.

Dean pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants and made his way to the kitchen, doing his best to not disturb Sam, who was still passed out in the living room. He grabbed his keys off the counter and stuffed his feet into an old pair of sneakers before quietly exiting the apartment. 

He could have brewed a pot of coffee, but he needed some fresh air. The argument with Sam was still echoing in his mind. Dean pulled his hood up against the bitter Kansas wind and made in the direction of the closest 7-Eleven. 

The roads were Saturday-morning quiet. Dean relished the silence and the sting of the cold air on his face. He usually tried to wait until after breakfast, but he took out his lighter and lit a cigarette, anyway. The burn in his throat was a welcome familiarity. Dean sighed against the nicotine buzz. It had been a few days.

He remembered the look on Cas’s face the day before, when he’d mentioned a cigarette. He’d gone cold turkey sometime around the Christmas before his dad died. Cas acted like it was the most impressive thing anyone had ever done. But, then… Well. Then he’d gone from near-alcoholic to stone-cold sober. He wasn’t proud of it, but he needed something to take the edge off those first few months. The habit was harder to kick the second time around. 

Dean reached the 7-Eleven and discarded the cigarette in the ashtray on top of the trashcan. He made a beeline for the coffee machine. Dean grabbed the largest cup he saw, filled it to the brim with steaming coffee. He had just taken the glorious first sip when —

“Dean!” 

Dean turned around at the sound of a woman’s voice. He grinned wide when he saw the owner was Sheriff Jody Mills. 

“Hey, Jody,” he said, setting the cup down. She pulled him into a tight hug. In the past three years, Jody had become family. 

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” She asked when they parted. Dean shrugged. “Bobby told me about your head.” 

“Old man can’t keep his mouth shut,” Dean grumbled, garnering a laugh from Jody. “I’m fine. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Stitches say otherwise.” 

He waved a hand at her. “Nah. How are you, Jody?” 

Jody sighed. “Same old. Bunch of the force is off for Christmas already. I pulled the short straw, had to work the graveyard shift last night. ” 

“Anything interesting happen?”

Jody gave him a look. “No, nothing ‘interesting.’ Although we did have a mugging.”

Dean took another sip of coffee. “Where?” 

“Down at that bar on 14th, sometime around midnight. A couple of college kids jumped this poor guy on his way to an Uber. He got a little banged up, and they took his wallet, gave him a good scare.” Jody sighed. “I felt bad for him. Said he was from outta town, just passing through on his way to Kansas City.” She snorted. “Makes Lawrence look real nice, huh? You’re here for a couple of days, and you get mugged.” 

Dean froze. “Kansas City? Did you happen to get his name?” 

“We did, but… God, I can’t remember it.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?” 

“No reason. Did he, uh, did he mention where he was staying?”

“Uh… I think he said the Days Inn.”

“The one right by KU?” Dean asked. 

Jody shrugged. “Probably. I didn’t ask for specifics. Dean, what’s going on?” 

Dean grabbed a lid and put it on his cup. “It’s nothing, Jody, I promise. I’ll see you around.” 

As he made his way to the cashier, Jody let out an exasperated sigh. “Good to see you too!” She called after him. 

He paid for his coffee and all but ran back to his apartment. Upon reaching the parking lot, he hurriedly unlocked the Impala and slid into the driver’s seat. Dean’s movements slowed before he could turn the key in the ignition. 

What was he doing, exactly? What was his plan here? He had Cas’s phone number. He could easily call him, ask if he was okay, if that was him who got mugged. Would Cas even tell him the truth if it really was him Jody was talking about? The man didn’t owe Dean a damn thing, he’d made that perfectly clear. 

And yet… Dean had to know. Despite everything, all of his anger and grudge-holding, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until he knew. With a pang, Dean remembered waking up in the hospital, Cas sitting next to him. He quite literally hasn’t left your side. The least Dean could do now was check up on him. 

“Days Inn,” he muttered to himself as he started the car, trying to remember how to get to KU from the apartment. He almost stopped and turned around more than once. Seeing Cas on a normal day was bad enough, but seeing him bruised and bloodied… Dean tried not to think about it. Just making sure he’s okay, he told himself. He’d do the same for me.

Finally, he reached the motel. It was still relatively dark out. He parked the Impala at the back of the building, triple-checking that he had locked it, before making his way to the front desk. 

“Mornin’,” he greeted the woman behind the counter. “I was wonderin’...” He paused mid-sentence as something caught his eye from the breakfast seating area. A man, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper, his dark hair sticking up in twelve different directions. 

“Nevermind,” Dean said. He made his way to the table. 

“You look like shit,” Dean said by way of a greeting. Cas jumped, nearly toppling his cup. He took a deep breath as Dean sat across from him, folding his arms across his chest. 

He really did look awful. Under the guise of concern, he let himself look at Cas, really look at him. Dean took stock of the black eye and complementary swollen cheek, but his eyes lingered on the full lips and stubbled jaw. Still the same. Maddeningly beautiful. 

“Dean,” Cas grumbled, and he sounded like shit, too. “What are you doing here?” 

“I was in the area,” he said, aiming for blasé. Cas sipped his coffee. Dean leaned back in his chair and asked, “So, were you gonna tell me you got mugged?” 

Cas cleared his throat. “What?” 

“Saw the sheriff this morning. She told me some poor travelin’ dude got mugged outside of a bar.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Sound familiar?” 

Cas sighed and folded his hands together. “Yes,” he said. “It was rather unfortunate.” 

Dean studied him for a moment, flipping between anger and concern. Cas had texted him after the incident, hadn’t bothered to mention it. “You okay?” He said finally, deciding it was too early to get mad. 

“Yes,” Cas said again. “I suppose they were just sober enough to land a punch.” He gestured at his eye. “I believe they just wanted cash, and I’m sure the ID of a twenty-two year old was desirable as well.” He sighed once more. “I’m just glad they didn’t take my phone.” 

“What were you doin’ down there, anyway?” Dean asked. 

Cas gave him a look. “I think, based on my current state, that you can infer the nature of my outing.” 

And, yeah, he looked horribly hungover, in addition to everything else. Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure. I mean, why were you getting sloshed at, like, the worst college bar in town?” 

Cas laughed, but it was mirthless. “It is not of import.” 

“Wh —” Dean interrupted himself with a frustrated sigh. “Okay.” He was tapping the table with two fingers. This was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have come. “Why are you staying here, anyway?” He asked, just to have something to say. “This place sucks.” 

“Because you told me that I would be in Lawrence for upwards of two weeks,” Cas explained. “The rooms are inexpensive.” 

Dean just stared at him. Of course Cas would find the cheapest shithole in town. A wave of guilt rushed over him. What was wrong with him? He and Bobby were the ones who wouldn’t be able to fix Cas’s car until after Christmas. Cas was stuck here because of them, because of him, and Dean couldn’t just give up his couch for a week? If he had just done that in the first place, Cas probably wouldn’t have a black eye. 

Logically, Dean knew this train of thought made next to no sense. The rational side of him knew he was placing undue blame on himself for situations beyond his control. 

That knowledge didn’t make the pain in his chest subside. 

Dean couldn’t just leave Cas in that hotel lobby, hungover and nursing a black eye, no driver’s license, no money. He considered his options for a moment. He could send him to Bobby’s. But, no, that would invite raised eyebrows and lots of questions. Bobby was out. He could pay for Cas to stay at a better hotel, one closer to the shop. A quick estimation told him that was a thousand-dollar choice. Not happening. Dean groaned internally. He was the world’s biggest idiot. 

“Come on, you’re checking out,” he said gruffly, standing up.

“What?” Cas stayed resolutely in his seat. “Dean, I’m not going to waste money on accommodations, this is fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s great, I can tell,” Dean said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “You’re staying at my place.” 

Cas looked at Dean like he’d just grown a third head. “You’ve been consistently upset at me since the moment you saw me. I don’t think cohabiting is wise.” 

Dean cringed. “Choice of words, Cas,” he mumbled. He yanked Cas up by the arm. “Look, man, I owe you one, anyway. Just…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Cas shifted out of Dean’s grasp. 

“You owe me for… What, exactly?” Cas said, eyes searching Dean’s face. Dean tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt. 

“You drove me to the hospital,” he muttered. 

“Bobby said he’d fix my car for free if I did.”

Of course he did. “Yeah, well, you stayed until I woke up.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Because I felt responsible for your concussion.”

Dean tilted his head back, begging the ceiling for strength. “Look, man, I’m just trying to be nice.”

“What a pleasant change in demeanor,” Cas deadpanned. 

“You’re being a fucking idiot,” Dean said, exasperated. 

“Charming,” Cas said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re selling your invitation beautifully.”

Dean glared at him. “Are you coming, or not?”

“All right,” Cas relented, but sounded reluctant. 

Dean let out a sigh of relief. Cas retrieved his bags and checked out at the front desk as Dean waited impatiently at the Impala. The sun had just begun to rise when the two pulled out of the parking lot. 

“I’d make Sam take the couch,” Dean said as he drove, “But he’s a giant. Sorry. It’s probably still better than that crappy motel.” 

Cas kept his gaze out the passenger window. “Your brother is here?” 

It occurred to Dean that the last time Sam and Cas had talked, it was under very different circumstances. He’d almost forgotten Cas’s Christmas in Lawrence. Dean berated himself silently once more. Hadn’t he just gotten into an argument with Sam about the man sitting in his passenger seat? What was he supposed to tell him? Hey, remember when I told you to never speak of my old roommate again? He’s staying with us.

If Dean was honest, he couldn’t even justify the situation to himself. He’d spent months broken over Cas, then years pissed at him. Maybe he was some kind of masochist. 

Dean sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. He’s home from school for the holidays.” 

Cas murmured in understanding. “He’s attending college?” 

“University of Texas,” Dean said, and he couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. 

“I look forward to seeing him again,” Cas said. “It’s been a long time.”

Maybe it was the implication behind the words, or the way Cas said them. Dean felt a pang in his chest for the friendship they’d once had. In the early morning light, with Cas in his passenger seat, he could almost believe they’d never lost it. He could almost convince himself that Cas had just moved away. That they saw each other sometimes, grabbed a cup of coffee, reminisced about the old days. No bad blood, just fond memories. The kind of friendship that sits in the back of the sock drawer, a pleasant surprise when it’s found. 

Almost.

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. That wasn’t reality, he reminded himself. They had lost that friendship, and there was plenty of bad blood. Dean had made his choices. Cas had made his. Pretending otherwise didn’t do him any good. 

The rest of the drive was quiet. Dean turned on the stereo, and “Whole Lotta Love” played softly through the speakers. The drive that had earlier felt like an eternity now seemed all too fast. Dean was not looking forward to explaining to Sam why Castiel Novak was their new roommate for the foreseeable future. 

Dean pulled into the parking lot. He rubbed his face with one hand, tried to remind himself that this was the nice thing to do, that this was what he would do for anyone else, and so he should do it for Cas. Even if Cas made him feel like he’d put his life back together with dollar store glitter glue, and it was about to fall apart at one misplaced breath. 

Seeming to sense Dean’s discomfort, Cas said, “Dean, you don’t have to do this.” His voice was measured, but it had a near-pleading tone. “I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Dude, no, you’re not,” Dean replied, and he felt like screaming. Couldn’t he do one nice thing, just one?

Cas rolled his eyes, a full-body movement. “Like I said, I know you’re angry at me. I also know you don’t wish to talk about it,” he added, seeing Dean open his mouth to say just that. “And I don’t wish to cause you strife every time you decide to use your kitchen or watch television.” Cas sighed, a heavy thing. “I appreciate the gesture.” 

Dean closed his eyes. Counted to five. Breathed out. “Cas,” he said. He was doing his best to keep his tone neutral, but Cas was being stubborn, and he didn’t have the energy for that. “Just… Let me do this. Let’s just go inside. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll kick your ass back to the friggin’ Days Inn.” 

Cas eyed him for a moment, as if attempting to discover the meaning behind his sudden kindness. Dean told himself he was doing what he would do for anyone. The gesture was devoid of feeling. He was going through the motions of being a good person. 

Finally, Cas relented. He opened the door and moved to the trunk to retrieve his luggage. Dean rolled his shoulders and followed suit. 

“You mind hanging out here for a sec?” Dean asked. “I gotta talk to Sam.” 

Cas just nodded, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Dean locked his car and made the ascent to his door.

Dean got to work on a pot of coffee. He almost hoped that Sam wouldn’t wake from the noise, that he could put off the coming conversation as long as possible. But, of course, Sam woke up almost the moment the machine finished brewing. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean said as Sam sat up. “Coffee?” 

Sam nodded groggily. “Morning.” 

Dean brought him a cup and sat on the couch across from the air mattress. “How’d you sleep?” He asked, stalling. 

Sam gave him a curious look. “Uh… Fine, actually. This thing isn’t as uncomfortable as I thought.” 

“Good,” Dean said. He was bouncing his leg, trying to figure out what to say. “Um.” Great start.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What?” He said.

“Nothing,” Dean said. Then, “I just wanted to, uh. Well. Look, sorry for being a dick last night.” 

Sam’s eyes widened at him over his mug. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

“What?” Dean replied. “I’m fine, dude, why?”

“Well, it’s just…” Sam trailed off and took another sip. “We don’t really do the whole ‘apologizing after arguments’ thing.” He gave Dean a look. “No chick flick moments and all that.” 

“Right,” Dean said. “Yeah, no, I know, I just. I felt kinda bad. You didn’t mean to, uh… Anyway.” 

Sam gave a little laugh. “Okay,” he said slowly. 

“So.” Dean cleared his throat. He should just say it. “Cas is staying here for a while.” 

Sam choked on his coffee. After a fit of coughing, he looked at Dean with wide eyes. “What? When — did you — What?” 

“He got mugged last night at some bar,” Dean said, looking resolutely at the ground. “So I, uh, I picked him up. I owe him one, you know, for drivin’ me to the hospital and all that.” 

Sam eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion. “I thought you were pissed at him.” He sat up a little straighter. “Actually, if I remember this right, you’ve been so pissed at him for the last three years that I haven’t been allowed to talk about him.” 

Dean clasped his hands together and hung his head. “Look, man, I felt bad, okay? I was being dumb not offering in the first place. The dude’s gonna be here at least until the end of next week.” He finally looked up at Sam and gave a shrug, aiming for nonchalance and missing it by about three miles. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

Sam looked unconvinced. “Where’s he gonna sleep?” 

“Couch.” 

“Right. And you’re gonna be totally cool with him around?” Dean didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed. “What the hell are you doing, man?” 

“I told you,” Dean grumbled. “The right thing.” 

Sam looked at him with so much pity that it made Dean squirm. “You want me to send him back?” He almost hoped Sam would say yes, give him an excuse to be the total asshole he was. 

“No!” Sam said quickly. “No, I’m excited to see Cas. Damn, it’s been a while. I just… Confused. Last night —” 

“He’s outside,” Dean interrupted quietly. 

“What?” Sam exclaimed. He jumped up from the air mattress. “Cas is here? Right now?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” Dean grumbled. 

Sam rolled his eyes and made for the front door. He threw it open, and Dean followed behind him, rolling his eyes at the dramatics. 

They descended the single flight of stairs. Cas was leaning against the Impala, his small suitcase leaning at his right. Dean felt a smile tug at his lips. The guy hadn’t accumulated much since he’d last seen him, apparently. Seeing Cas smile at Sam, standing next to the Impala, Dean felt that same feeling. Like nothing had changed. He pushed it away. 

“Cas!” Sam said, all happiness. “Dude, it’s so great to see you.” He wrapped the other man into a hug. Cas hugged him back with a small smile, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Dean stood a ways back, his arms crossed. 

“Sam,” he said once they’d parted. “It’s very good to see you, too.” 

“How have you been? Where have you been? You graduated already?” 

Dean spoke up at that. “Sam, enough questions, the dude just got the shit beat out of him, like, eight hours ago.” 

Cas gave him a hard look. “I didn’t get the ‘shit beat out of me,’” he grumbled, punctuating the phrase with air quotes. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Damn, Cas,” Sam said, squinting at the black eye, as if he’d just realized it. “That looks like it hurts.” 

“It’s fine,” Cas said. 

Sam let out a huff of laughter. Dean raised an eyebrow and shoved him in the back. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam said, regaining his composure. “It’s just… Maybe you two are bad luck together.” He gestured at Dean, “First, you get concussed—” and then at Cas, “—and you get a black eye.” He shrugged. “Kinda funny.” 

Dean glared at him. Cas gave him a smile that said in bright neon letters, “this is me, humoring you.” 

“Whatever,” Dean said. “Are y’all hungry? I’m gonna make breakfast.” 

Sam grinned. “Yes!” He turned to Cas. “Dean makes the best breakfast.” 

Cas gave him a small, sad smile. “I know.” 

Sam’s grin faltered at that, and Dean was already regretting this whole altruistic move. He just turned and made his way back up to the apartment, Sam and Cas close behind him. 

Dean tried to focus on the sizzling of the frying pan instead of Sam’s animated conversation with Cas about how he’d gotten into UT with a scholarship and was studying political science on the pre-law track. His ears betrayed him when Sam asked Cas about his last three years. 

“Well, I… I finished that first year at Wichita State, off-campus. I transferred to the University of Oklahoma for the last five semesters. They have an excellent accounting program,” he added, as if that explained everything. Dean could feel his eyes on him, could practically taste the trepidation in his voice. “I was fortunate enough to intern at a firm in Kansas City last summer.” 

“That’s where you’re headed?” Sam asked. Cas nodded. 

“Hold on,” Sam said. “You said you finished your first year at WSU? So you were in Wichita until —” 

Dean coughed loudly. He wished he could have chosen something louder for breakfast, like a smoothie. He plated up the eggs and bacon and offered a dish to Sam and Cas. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, all-too earnestly. Sam just rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 

“‘S no problem,” Dean said. He grabbed his own plate and shoveled the food into his mouth, despite his appetite having abruptly left him at the revelation that Cas had been in Wichita far longer than he’d thought. 

The three of them ate in relative silence, broken occasionally by Sam’s attempts at small-talk. Dean got up and poured the rest of the coffee into a mug, silently setting it down before Cas. When he was met with raised eyebrows, Dean only shrugged. 

* * *

Dean saw more of Lawrence that weekend than he had in the past three years. He tagged along with Sam to the outlet mall, then dragged his brother to his favorite burger place and the local pie shop downtown. He left the apartment at eight on Sunday to take the Impala to the do-it-yourself car wash. He spent four hours detailing the car, in and out, top to bottom. Once that was finished, he voluntarily went into the shop to finish billing paperwork that Bobby hadn’t gotten to. When the stacks of paper were no more, he even drove all the way across town to one of his old bartending spots to catch up with his former coworkers. 

It turned out, living with Cas was easy if Dean never saw him. 

Dean knew his avoidance scheme was obvious, but what else could he do? Being in the same room as Cas for more than ten minutes made his head pound, and he was ninety percent sure it wasn’t his concussion. So Sam could raise his eyebrows all he wanted, Dean would still find all manner of errands to run and things to do. 

On Monday, he went back to see Dr. Barnes. She checked him over and determined that his stitches could be removed. 

“Thank god,” Dean muttered as she updated his chart. “Does that mean I can go back to work?”

She gave him a look. “How are your concussion symptoms?” 

“Nonexistent,” he said, and that was mostly true. He still tried to avoid sudden changes of elevation, and he wasn’t about to start blaring music again, but no more pulsing headaches or light sensitivity. 

“I suppose you can get back in the shop, as long as you’re careful,” Dr. Barnes replied. “You don’t work on Christmas, do you?”

Dean shook his head. 

“Well, it definitely wouldn’t hurt to take the whole week off and go back after the holiday,” she pointed out. 

“But I _could_ go back. If my boss needed me,” Dean said.

Dr. Barnes smiled. “Yes.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he could get Cas’s car done earlier than he thought. 

After his stitches were out, he thanked Dr. Barnes and made his way back to the Impala. He was almost smiling as he made his way to the shop. No stitches, no concussion, and soon, no Cas living in his apartment. His life was going back to normal.

Dean walked into the office, and Bobby looked at him with murder on his face. 

“You idjit, you’re not —”

Dean waved a paper at him. “Doctor said I’m cleared for work,” he said smugly. 

Bobby narrowed his eyes and gestured for the paper. Dean handed it to him, and he scrutinized its contents intently. With a grunt, he returned the paper to Dean and crossed his arms. 

“How much you pay her to say that?” He said.

Dean smirked. “C’mon Bobby, I wouldn’t do that.” Bobby scoffed in disbelief. “You looked at Cas’s car yet?” 

Bobby sighed. “Not yet. Bunch of oil changes with holiday travel and shit. I’ll pull it into a bay if you wanna have a look.” 

Dean nodded eagerly.

Once Cas’s ninety-something Honda Civic was parked, Dean lifted the hood and started diagnostics. Apparently, the car had just stopped in the middle of the road. There was gas in the tank, Dean noted with relief. Some people ran down to empty and then got confused why the engine died. He checked the alternator, no problems there. He had Bobby turn the ignition while he listened to the fuel pump, but it was working, too. 

He sighed as he reached for a compression gauge. If Bobby had been right, and the valves really _were_ bent, he was going to have a fit. 

Sure enough, half of the valves wouldn’t hold pressure. Dean groaned. He would have to replace the timing belt, too, then. Bobby was going to regret that promise of a free fix. More than that, though, Dean was regretting his promise of free lodging. Fixing Cas’s car, even if it was the only one he had to deal with, would take at least three full days. But he and Bobby really were packed with maintenance appointments, and they always had dinky little repair jobs around the holidays. Cas was stuck in Lawrence for at least another week. He’d be there for Christmas. 

Dean relayed the news to Bobby, who just shrugged and grumbled about how Dean’s concussion was about to cost him three grand between labor and parts. Dean spent the rest of the day changing oil and air filters, performing alignments, rotating tires. It felt good to be back in the shop. 

He called Sam on his way home, and his brother insisted that Dean make burgers for dinner. Dean had forgotten he’d be cooking for three until Sam started talking about his second day spent with Cas. Apparently, in Dean’s absence, they had become great buddies, talking about all kinds of nerd stuff Dean didn’t bother to commit to memory. 

“Hold on,” Sam said while Dean was in Wal-Mart getting dinner materials. Dean heard a door open and close on the other line before Sam began speaking again. 

“Are you gonna get his car done before Christmas?” He asked. 

“Definitely not,” Dean said, throwing two pounds of ground beef into his basket. “The valves are bent, which means the timing belt’s fucked too. He’s stuck here until Monday, best case scenario.” 

“You should invite him to Bobby’s, then.” 

Dean almost dropped the buns in his hand. “I should _what_?” 

“Come on, Dean, the poor guy’s gonna have to spend Christmas alone, otherwise,” Sam whined. 

“Dude, not happening.” 

“You’re being an idiot.” 

“Sam, you have no idea what you’re asking,” Dean argued as he made his way to the self-checkout. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to _avoid_ Cas, not induct him into the family.” 

Sam huffed on the other line. “You’re right, I don’t know what I’m asking, but that’s only because you refuse to tell me what happened.” 

“It’s really not that complicated,” Dean grumbled. “He didn’t want a damn thing to do with me. Ask him.”

“I already did, and he wouldn’t tell me anything.” 

“What?” Dean was doing his best to keep from shouting in the middle of the busy store. “Why would you do that?” 

“You just told me I should!” Sam retorted. 

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have done it without asking me first!” Dean hissed. He yanked his credit card from the machine and waited impatiently for his receipt to print. 

Sam groaned. “Look, that’s not the point —”  
“What’s the point, Sam?” Dean demanded. The frigid December air was welcome against his face, hot with frustration. “I don’t need you playing Dr. Phil for me and Cas, okay? I can handle my own bullshit.” 

“Whatever,” Sam muttered. 

Dean took a deep breath as he got into the car. “I’m leaving Wal-Mart now. I’ll see you at home, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Sam was uncharacteristically silent as Dean prepared the meal. He had some documentary playing on the TV. Cas was sitting in the armchair, reading a book. When the burgers were done, Dean delivered a plate to each of them. 

“I’m gonna FaceTime Eileen,” Sam announced, getting up to leave the room. 

“While you’re eating?” Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

Sam rolled his eyes and closed Dean’s bedroom door behind him. Dean shook his head. 

An awkward silence settled over the living room as Dean and Cas ate their burgers. It was the first time they’d been alone since Dean had picked him up from the motel. 

“This is very good,” Cas said at the same moment Dean said, “I looked at your car.” 

Dean blushed at the compliment. “Sorry,” he said. “Uh, glad you like it.” 

Cas gave a single nod. “You looked at my car?” 

“Yeah, uh, bad news,” Dean said, taking a sip of his beer. “Half of your valves are fucked.” At Cas’s vacant stare, he elaborated, “My guess is your timing belt is banged up. It’s causing the pistons to fire out of time, so they hit the valves wrong. The cylinders can’t keep pressure if the valves don’t work. That’s why your engine died.” 

Cas furrowed his brow. “What should I do to keep that from happening?” 

“Not much you can do ‘sides replace the belt every hundred thousand miles or so. They just kind of break.” 

“How long will the repair take?” 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the bad news. You’re stuck here for at least another week. Sorry, man, it’s just… Christmas, and all that.” 

Cas gave a weak smile. “No apology necessary.” He took a sip of water. “How’s your head?” 

“All better,” Dean said. “Doc took the stitches out today.” 

“I noticed.” 

“Said it would still probably scar, but at least I’m back in the shop.” 

Cas gave a polite nod but didn’t say anything more. Dean took both their plates to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. Dean got to work cleaning up the burger mess. 

“What did you end up majoring in?” Cas asked, and the abrupt sound of his voice made Dean jump. He scrubbed the frying pan intently.

“Never did figure that out,” Dean replied gruffly.

“What?” Cas asked, confused. “Didn’t you finish at WSU?”

Dean put the pan on his drying rack and paused, gripping the edges of the counter, his head hanging low to his chest. He took a breath. Here it was, the conversation he hated having. The one that tattooed “I’m a massive failure” in block letters on his forehead.

“Nope,” he said. He turned around, a scowl on his face. The last person he needed to take shit from was Cas. “Do you think I’d be living in this dump if I had a degree?”

Cas’s brows knit together. “Your apartment is quite nice,” he said. “Why didn’t you finish?”

Dean shrugged, playing at nonchalance. “It was too hard,” he said, the same answer he gave everyone, because it was the most believable. It was the easiest. He could handle everyone thinking he was a grade-A idiot with a GED and a mechanic certification. He couldn’t handle the pity that came with admitting that he simply couldn’t put himself back together after his father died.

Cas looked doubtful. “Right,” he said after a moment.

Dean felt trapped under Cas’s scrutinous gaze. He cleared his throat, selecting the least exhausting of his many questions to push attention back to Cas.

“I’m still surprised you’re not some big-shot writer already,” he said, turning back to the kitchen. He set about wiping down the stovetop. “It always seemed like you were really into that stuff.” As a memory tickled the edges of his brain, he added, “Good at it, too.”

“Yes, well,” Cas said, letting out a slow breath. “By the spring of my freshman year, it became evident that my priorities were misplaced. I spent too much time writing, not enough time working on my accounting classes.” Cas paused as Dean replaced his cleaning supplies to their places under the sink. When he stood back up, Cas was giving him a meaningful look.

“And sometimes,” he said, deliberately, “Sometimes, the things we love can be bad for us, in the end. Despite how happy they might make us in the moment.”

Dean snorted. He knew Cas was trying to make some bigger point, but he wasn’t willing to follow him there. “I dunno,” he said. “Pretty much everything I love is always awesome.”

“Really,” Cas deadpanned.

“Yup,” Dean said with a nod. “Sam, Bobby, the rest of my family… Hell, they’re always good, always there when I need ‘em. I’ve always loved working on cars, and now that pays the bills. Pie. Obviously.” He held up his hands.

“Well, I’m elated that everything you’re passionate about has worked out for you,” Cas said, his tone caustic. “I suppose not everyone is so lucky.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Tension was rolling off Cas in waves. This was good, Dean could work with this. Cas looking at him with some unknown emotion, trying to talk about what happened… The thought alone gave him a headache. But Cas looking at him like he was doing his best not to murder him, like he was insufferable and ridiculous, that, he could face.

A week. He could do this for one week. 

But Cas was rearranging his expression into something gentler, breathing deeply through the anger Dean was provoking. 

“I know I’ve hurt you,” Cas said with a sigh. “And I know the last thing you want to do is talk about it,” he added, as Dean opened his mouth to say just that. Dean crossed his arms, his jaw set. 

“I won’t bring it up again, I promise,” Cas said in earnest. “But you have to know, I only… It wasn’t intentional.” A pause. “I only left because you told me to go.” 

Dean felt something cave in his chest. Everything went slack. “ _What_?” He hissed. 

Cas cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “Do you not remember?” 

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice a poor attempt at measured, “What are you talking about?” 

Cas just stared at him, confused and piteous. Before he could speak, Sam emerged from Dean’s room with his dirty plate. 

“Thanks for dinner, Dean,” Sam said. He seemed to have calmed down from their earlier argument. “You wanna watch _A New Hope_ tonight?”

Dean was still staring at Cas, who was studying the ground with great intensity. He barely heard Sam’s question. 

“Yo,” Sam said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You hear me?” 

Dean blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m beat, honestly,” he said. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay.” 

Sam smirked at him. “You’re old, dude.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Night, Sammy,” 

“Sleep well, old man,” Sam joked. 

Dean turned and made his way to his room. He could vaguely hear Sam asking Cas what he wanted to watch, but his brain was swimming.

Thinking that maybe, probably, everything had been his fault, that was one thing. To hear it, straight from the source, from _Cas_ … 

_I only left because you told me to go._

Dean closed his bedroom door behind him and grabbed the bottle of scotch from inside his desk. As he poured a generous glass, he sifted through his final memories with Cas, trying to find something that would make those words make sense. He might have spent the better part of that spring in a haze, but he was sure he would have remembered telling Cas to leave. All he could remember was waking up on the floor of their room one morning, his clothes reeking of whiskey, one half of the room empty.

That was a bad day. He’d completely blacked out the night before, and still felt pretty drunk when he’d woken up. He remembered calling Cas over and over again. Eventually, the calls stopped ringing out and started going straight to voicemail. Dean hadn’t left the room that day, despite having a full day of classes. He didn’t shower. He simply remained in the same spot, feeling more and more hopeless as the minutes went by. In his desperation, he’d even called Meg. She told him that Cas had left and that he should delete both their numbers. She called him a fuck-up. She spoke with so much hatred that Dean couldn’t even get a word in before she hung up on him.

Losing his dad, that was one thing. Losing Cas, after everything… 

Dean finished his drink and poured another. Downed it in one sip.

If he hadn’t already, Dean had hit rock bottom when Cas left. Long nights bled into longer days. When he eventually realized that, without Cas, no one noticed when he skipped class, or didn’t come home, or didn’t eat, he just stopped. He didn’t open a textbook for the rest of the semester, he crashed on any and every stranger’s couch, he lived off of beer and liquor and the occasional dining hall burger.

Dean stripped off his clothes, the alcoholic haze just beginning to slow his movements. He turned on the shower and got in, the scalding water providing a welcome touch of pain. He stood there, the scotch progressively settling into its neural blockade, but failing to quiet the echoing of Cas’s words. 

At first, he _had_ blamed himself. Of course Cas left, because who would have stayed? Dean _was_ a fuck-up, just like Meg said. John had known it, and he’d never let Dean forget it, as if Dean needed any help remembering. He couldn’t protect Sam from John, not all the time. He couldn’t even make it past sixteen without adopting a crippling nicotine addiction. Worst of all, he couldn’t suffer through four more years at home. If he could have done that, if he could have just stayed a little longer, John would have still been alive. Sam wouldn’t have been an orphan at fourteen.

At some point, though, it wasn’t enough to be angry at himself. Because, sure, he was a disaster of a human being, but Cas had known that. He’d seen all of the bullshit, and Cas still… They were still friends. Or, he’d at least let Dean think they were. But how could they have been? The second Dean needed him, _really_ needed him, Cas had bailed.

The shower was spinning. Dean turned off the head and stumbled out, having no idea how long he’d been standing there. He towelled off and haphazardly threw on a pair of underwear before collapsing into his bed. 

He laid there for a moment, eyes closed, sinking into the false gyration of the room. Sam and Cas were talking in low voices in the living room, but Dean couldn’t pick out a single word. He opened the drawer in his bedside table, fumbling around for his headphones. His fingers brushed a stack of paper. Dean frowned and pulled it out. 

It was nearly fifty pages, front and back. The paper was crumpled all over; stains dappled the text. The first page was blank, save a note written in neat, blue script. 

_I couldn’t have written this without you. Thank you. Merry Christmas._

_-CN_

Dean flipped through the pages for what could have been the millionth time. He wasn’t reading the lines of text, only catching a few words here and there. 

Dean was staring at the cover page again when a knock sounded at his door. 

“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly, setting the papers on his nightstand. 

He’d been expecting Sam, but it was Cas who poked his head around the door. “Dean?” He said, “I’m going to use your shower, if that’s all right.” 

Dean cleared his throat. “Sure,” he said. “No problem.” 

Cas made his way to the bathroom, but stopped dead at the bedside table. He was staring at the papers. 

“You kept this?” He said in a strangled voice. 

Dean didn’t even look at him, just muttered something incomprehensible in affirmation. 

“Dean…” His voice was damn-near pleading. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, willing his mind back to languid blankness. 

And maybe it was the scotch, maybe it was the feeling of Cas staring at him, maybe it was the pages filled with Cas’s words that Dean had read so many times he’d almost memorized it. Whatever it was, his head was pounding, and the effort of holding his grudge suddenly seemed worthless. He could avoid and irritate Cas for a week. Or…

“Can we just forget about it?” Dean said.

“What?” Cas replied. 

“All of it. Everything,” Dean said, and he knew he wasn’t making sense, but he didn’t care. “Just… Water under the bridge. Start over.” 

Cas was quiet for a moment before muttering a tentative, “Sure.” 

“Good,” Dean said, and he was suddenly very tired. “G’night.” 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said, somewhere between sadness and hope. 


	10. Wanting is Enough

**Three Years Earlier**

“You goin’ home for Christmas?” Dean asked.

They were walking back to the dorm after dinner. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, a holiday for which neither Cas nor Dean had bothered to travel home.

“No,” Cas said. “I don’t believe I’m welcome at my father’s house anymore.”

Dean glanced sideways at him as they entered the stairwell. “Why? ‘Cause you’re gay?’ He asked.

Cas shrugged. “If he knows now, from Bartholomew or Hannah, then that certainly doesn’t help my case.” He sighed. “No, when he found out I was attending college and not entering ministry, he told me I shouldn’t come home again.”

Dean held the exit door open as Cas walked onto their floor. “When did that happen?” He asked.

“I kept the entirety of my college application process a secret. Only Anna knew,” Cas said. “She’s the only other sane person in my family. I made the mistake of informing the rest of them about it at dinner sometime in July.” He gave Dean a wry smile as they entered their room. “None of them were particularly thrilled.”

“You told them about the full ride and everything?”

“Yes.”

“And your old man still kicked you out?”

“The same night.”

Dean snorted. “Dumbass.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “You could say that.”

“Where’d you go after that?” Dean asked.

“Well, Anna was already living alone, down in Norman. She was at the University of Oklahoma,” he added by way of explanation. “I just stayed with her until August.”

Dean nodded. “She sounds cool. What’s she doing now?”

Cas broke into a grin. “She lives in North Carolina, now. She’s a therapist.”

Dean smirked at him. “So your ass is constantly getting psychoanalyzed?”

“I suppose.”

Dean slumped into the beanbag with a sigh. Cas remained at the door, leaning his weight against it.

“What about you?” He asked after a beat. “Are you returning home for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, smiling. “Well, it’s kinda complicated. I am going home, like, my actual home. Lawrence. We spend Christmas with some family friends.” Dean paused, looking thoughtful. “They’re really more family than friends. Bobby and Ellen and Ellen’s kid Jo. Bobby and Ellen were both friends with my dad.”

“Will your father and brother be there?”

Dean’s look darkened, if only slightly. “Dad’s not coming. The whole thing started ‘cause he got tired of trying to pretend to like the holidays after Mom died. Decided to pawn us off on his old friends. But yeah, Sammy’ll be there.”

Cas gave him a nod and pushed off from the door. While he was disappointed that Dean would be gone for winter break, he was relieved, too. That was three weeks sans-Dean, more than enough time for Cas to work through his little crush. The solitude would be good, he told himself. Cas figured he could fast-track the five stages of grief, and by the time Dean returned, Cas would be the best friend he deserved. Cas sighed to himself as he rifled through his closet for a towel and a change of clothes. He was grabbing bottles of shampoo and body wash when Dean cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said slowly, like the words were difficult to force out, “You could… I mean, I’m sure everyone wouldn’t mind if you came to Christmas.”

Cas whirled around to face Dean, who was picking at a loose thread on the beanbag.

“What?” He asked, a little too loudly.

“Since you’re not goin’ home,” Dean said. “You know, it sucks to spend Christmas alone. ‘Specially in this dump,” he added, gesturing generally to the small room.

“Are you inviting me to spend Christmas in Lawrence? With you?”

Dean gave a short laugh. “I guess it is kinda dumb. Yeah, nevermind.”

“No, I’d like that,” Cas rushed out. He blinked at his own words. He was supposed to be avoiding Dean as often as possible, not spending three uninterrupted weeks in his hometown. “It sounds nice,” Cas added weakly, despite the fact that it definitely did not. 

Dean looked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Dean broke into the biggest grin Cas had ever seen. “Dude, it’s going to be awesome. I can’t wait for everyone to meet you.” Dean stood up with and pulled Cas in for a hug, clapping him on the back twice. Cas winced, letting out a feeble chuckle as he returned the hug reluctantly. He was trying not to notice the warmth of Dean pressed against him, or the absence of it when they parted. 

* * *

“Are you pissed at me?” 

It was the Wednesday before finals started. They were quietly eating dinner when Dean threw the question at Cas, who coughed into his water. 

“What?” He sputtered. 

Dean rubbed the back of his head. “I dunno, man, I just feel like I never see you anymore.” 

Guilt crashed into Cas like a freight train. He had been absent, more absent even than before Thanksgiving. Part of it was out of necessity — finals were fast approaching, and he was intent upon an all-A’s first semester. But the hours at the library were stacked on top of the hours he spent in class and the hours he spent simply staying away from his room. 

“I apologize,” Cas said, and he couldn’t keep the earnestness from his voice. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I have two final papers, three exams, and two final projects coming up before the break.” 

“No, man, I get it,” Dean said with a shrug. “You’re busy. Sorry, that was kinda uncalled for. All in my head, you know.” 

Cas wanted to tell him that it was completely called for, that what Dean was feeling was valid, that he was being selfish and rude and a whole number of terrible things for avoiding Dean. But he couldn’t, because that would mean promptly declaring soul-destroying love for his best friend, right there in the middle of the dining hall. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he mumbled. 

Cas had thought that it was getting easier, being around Dean. He’d basked in the feeling of being not just someone’s best friend, but _Dean’s_ best friend, after Halloween, and that was enough. And while he was still avoiding spending long hours in their room, he felt like he was well on his way to making peace with the unrequited. 

But then, they’d gotten drunk on the night of Thanksgiving. Cas didn’t remember much besides waking up in a tangled heap with Dean on the floor of their room. He’d been successful in extricating himself from the strange embrace before Dean regained consciousness, and thank god for that. But the situation lived rent-free in Cas’s mind. It made things considerably more difficult. 

And then there was the prospect of travelling to Lawrence to spend Christmas with Dean and his family. Cas really hadn’t wanted to spend the holiday alone, and was, on the one hand, thankful for the invitation. On the other, his anxiety was mounting. That trip meant there was absolutely no avoiding Dean for at least three weeks; not to mention the fact that he was meeting the group of people most important to Dean. 

So if Cas was making extra efforts to put space between himself and his roommate, it was not unwarranted. 

They finished eating and made their way back to the dorms. Dean was complaining about his own finals, and while Cas tried his hardest to remain engaged, his heart wasn’t in it. He was angry at himself. Even when he felt like he was succeeding, he was failing. 

“Cas,” Dean said. Cas had just let them into the room, but Dean was standing resolutely in the hallway. 

“Yes?” Cas responded. 

“Are you… I know I already asked, but man, something’s off,” Dean rushed out. “Is — Is this about Christmas? ‘Cause —”

Cas interrupted him. “No, Dean. I’m excited to spend Christmas with you and your family.” 

Dean smiled weakly, but it was brief. “I just — you’re never around, man,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I feel like I fucked something up somehow.” 

Cas knew Dean well enough by now to know there were things he was trying to say without saying them. His heart broke to know that _I miss you_ was likely one of them. 

“I promise, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Cas said. “I’m just concerned about my finals.” Lie. 

Dean looked at him with skepticism. “Okay,” he said finally. 

Another twinge of guilt soared through him, but he didn’t say anything more, just gathered his things for a shower. Dean still hadn’t come into the room when Cas pushed past him and made his way to the bathroom. 

When he returned, Dean was gone, but Cas saw a notification on his phone. 

_DW (7:32 pm)_

_went out back later_

Cas narrowed his eyes at the short message, but typed out a reply anyway. 

_CN (7:34 p.m.)_

_Okay. Be safe. Don’t forget, there’s class tomorrow._

He sat down at his desk and opened his computer. He tried studying for his accounting final, but the words and equations might have been hieroglyphics for all that he was absorbing them. Cas sighed and pulled up the final project description for his creative writing class instead. 

It was his favorite class by far. In high school, Cas focused on writing short stories, mostly adapted from real life. His notebooks were his confidants, the product of never having a close friend. But now, he was challenged to write other things; poetry, scripts, memoirs. Cas lived for the challenge, finally able to stretch new creative muscles. And while his attempt at drama had received mixed reviews from his professor and peers alike, his other works were well-received. He’d never shared his writing with anyone, and to hear others enjoyed it was something Cas cherished.

But this final project, it was difficult. The professor had tasked them with writing a 1000-word story in prose and adapting it into both a drama and a poem. The goal was to tell the same story in each genre. Cas couldn’t even think of a scene he might want to write, let alone how he was going to move fluidly between genres.

He sighed, and began to list out possible ideas. When it became clear that he wasn’t getting anywhere, he closed his notebook and moved onto something less intense. He reviewed his econ notes for an hour, got started on his final paper for literature. 

After hitting a solid halfway point on his first draft, he checked his phone again. It was already midnight. Cas frowned. Dean was known to stay out late on the weekends, but it was Wednesday. Cas knew Dean had a nine-a.m. history class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He also knew that Dean wouldn’t make it to said class if he was out much later. He sent him a text. 

_CN (12:03 a.m.)_

_Are you all right?_

Cas hit the bathrooms to brush his teeth and get ready for bed before checking his phone. His worry only increased when he saw that Dean hadn’t replied. He sent another text, hoping he didn’t seem too overbearing. 

_CN (12:11 a.m.)_

_Just making sure you’re alive._

He decided that if Dean didn’t respond in the next ten minutes, he’d call, regardless of how ridiculous he might sound. 

Cas paced around the room, picking up what little stray trash they had left lying out. He was about to take out his phone again to check the time when it started vibrating on his desk. He picked it up eagerly, but frowned at the unknown number. Cas considered letting it ring out, but he hit the “accept” button at the last second. He didn’t say anything as he held the phone up to his ear, expecting a wrong number.

His eyes went wide when Dean rasped, “Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas replied, trying to keep panic out of his voice. “What — Why are you calling me from this number?”

“Phone’s dead,” he said, sounding exhausted. “I hate to do this to you, man, but… Just — goddammit — can you come get me?”

“What?” 

“I’m just — I’m at the corner of seventeenth and Gentry.”

“Don’t you have a DD?” Cas asked. Dean had never called him to pick him up from a party. He always made sure someone was sober, or he called an Uber. 

“No,” Dean sighed. 

“Seventeenth and Gentry?” He repeated, and he heard Dean murmur something in affirmation. Cas made a turn for his car and said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.

Cas tried to drive at a normal speed, but it was difficult. Dean had left abruptly, and while Cas hadn’t thought to question it, it now seemed glaringly out-of-character. Dean had never partied in the middle of the week, and he certainly had never gone drinking by himself. Every red light kicked his anxiety up a notch. 

After the interminable drive, Cas finally arrived at the corner Dean had directed him to, a small bar with WSU flags plastered everywhere. Cas drove past the front of the building slowly, but couldn’t find Dean there. Finally, he saw a phone booth just past the bar’s street parking, and he coaxed the car forward. Dean was leaning against its side, a cigarette in his mouth. He hadn’t brought a jacket, and it was barely thirty degrees out. Cas turned up the heat in the car as he unlocked the passenger door.

Dean put out the cigarette and slid in without a word. Cas hit the gas and started the drive back to the dorms.

Neither said a word in the ten minutes it took Cas to reach campus. The only sounds were the roar of hot air from the vents and the low groan of the engine. Cas kept his eyes in front of him, never once daring to glance at Dean.

When they reached the lot, Cas threw the gear shift into park and folded his hands in his lap. He stared at his own interlaced fingers, willing Dean to speak first, not wanting to ask the question.

Dean didn’t speak, though, just opened the car door and stepped out. Cas saw a light flicker through the passenger window, and suppressed a groan as he realized Dean had lit another cigarette. _Typical_ , Cas thought, and he was suddenly annoyed. It occurred to him that if their places were switched, Dean would be hounding him, demanding that Cas tell him everything, because he always did. Anytime Cas seemed the slightest bit off, Dean was there, asking questions, being the good friend that he was. But now? Now, he expected Cas to leave it alone, to let him suffer with whatever was bothering him. Cas took a few steadying breaths, then turned the engine off and got out.

“Dean,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, “What the hell?” 

Dean didn’t answer, just took a long drag, his gaze aimed resolutely ahead. Cas huffed and crossed his arms. 

“You… You can’t just ask me to come pick you up from a bar and not offer an explanation,” Cas said. 

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

Cas let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, well, that’s perfectly adequate,” he scoffed.

“What else am I supposed to say?” Dean demanded. 

Cas stared at him, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, his jaw set. “I’m going to bed. 

“What?” Dean asked, finally looking at Cas. 

Cas shrugged. “I’m obviously wasting my time.”

Another drag. An exhale.

“My dad called while you were in the shower.” 

The irritation shifted, almost immediately, to concern. “Your father called you?”

“Yeah.” 

“What did he want?” 

Dean tapped his cigarette against his leg. “Mostly to remind me what a piece of shit I am.” 

Cas remained silent, allowing Dean the space to form whatever his next thought might be. 

“I guess…” Dean rubbed his free hand over his forehead. “I guess Sam let it slip that I was bringing you to Bobby’s for Christmas.” 

Cas cocked his head. “And that’s… Problematic?” 

Dean exhaled another plume of smoke. “Yeah,” he said. He let out a mirthless laugh. “He said he didn’t get it, that if I was bringing anyone home, it should be a girlfriend, not…” Dean trailed off. 

Cas felt the blood leave his face. “He thinks —”

“Yeah.” 

“Dean, I don’t have to come,” Cas said. _It would be better for both of us_. “I’ll be perfectly fine here. I appreciate the offer, I do, but I don’t want to make life more difficult for you than necessary.” 

Dean looked at him, finally, and he was all shadow and exhaustion. “No, he’s not gonna be there. You’re coming,” he said resolutely, and Cas tried not to let the disappointment show. “Plus, that wasn’t all of it. He’s pissed that I didn’t come home for Thanksgiving. Said something about how I was dishonoring my mom’s memory or something.” 

Cas was silent for a moment. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“At the bar,” Cas clarified. He couldn’t tell how drunk Dean really was, but based on that recent revelation, he could guess. 

Dean furrowed his brow. “What?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I had like three beers. I was planning on going full blackout, but then you reminded me about class.” 

Cas almost smiled at that, because it was almost funny. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Decide to get blackout drunk just because your father incorrectly assumed you were bringing me — bringing a male partner to a Christmas he wouldn’t even attend?” 

Dean frowned. “I don’t — I don’t know,” he said, and he sounded almost surprised at his own answer. 

Cas was treading on thin ice, he knew that. But he kept up anyway. “I don’t want to overstep,” he said slowly, “But, Dean, your father… It doesn’t seem like he’s taken the time to get to know you. The real you, not the version he wants you to be, or the version he projects onto you.” 

When Dean didn’t stop him, he continued. “And you don’t owe him anything, not anymore. You’re here, aren’t you? All on your own. He has no power over you. And, I’m only assuming, but I believe that might terrify him. Because not only do you no longer need him, but you may choose not to want him.”

Cas let out a small laugh. “Believe me, I know how difficult it is to stop putting stock in what your father thinks. It took me years to accept that I had done nothing wrong, that my father was, and always would be, a bigot. I… I’m still working on it, even now,” he admitted. Cas sighed. “But my life has been better, easier, since I stopped trying to please someone who hardly even knew me.” 

Dean’s expression changed, and he blinked. He was still looking in Cas’s direction, but not at him. Past him, at some unknown subject. Cas took a step toward him.

“Dean?” 

“I don’t need him,” Dean whispered.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean let out a huff, overflowing with something like realization. “I never thought about that before. It’s not like he’s ever tried to talk to me.” Dean threw his cigarette on the asphalt and stomped it out. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips, and he wrapped his hands around his midsection. “You know, I used to try so hard to be like him.” Dean tilted his head toward the sky. “I listened to his music, I dressed like him. Hell, I even started talkin’ like him.

“It was never enough, you know? I always fucked up. Sam didn’t get to school on time, or I forgot milk at the grocery store. I just, I dunno. I know he loves me. But I always wanted him to _like_ me, too, you know?” 

“I do.” 

“Oh man, you should’ve seen him when he found out I’d been hiding money away to go to college,” Dean said, laughing darkly. “I thought I was gonna go to school with a black eye for a week.” 

“He hit you?” Cas asked, horrified. 

“What? No, no,” Dean said quickly. “I just thought he might.”

Cas let out a breath. There was one crime John Winchester hadn’t committed. “What do you mean, hiding money?”

“Dad never really had a steady job, not after our mom died,” Dean explained. “That’s why we moved around a lot. When I was fourteen, I started working. Chickenshit stuff, mostly. Mowing lawns and detailing cars until I was old enough to start flippin’ burgers.” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “The money was supposed to go to rent and food, but I started putting most of it aside, just in case, you know? I had enough for a year of college by the time I was a senior. I figured I could get loans and stuff for the rest.”

“And when you told him, he got angry?”

Dean only nodded, now staring intently at the ground. Cas didn’t say anything more, knowing Dean had probably just unloaded more trauma than he’d even known he had. Finally, though, Dean’s gaze met his.

“But I don’t need him,” he repeated.

“You don’t.” 

“He’s nothing, unless I want him to be something,” Dean said slowly, and his eyes were growing triumphant. “Cas, you’re a genius.”

“If you say so.” 

“You learn all that stuff from your sister? The one with a degree in ‘dealing with crazy fuckers’?”

Cas smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “And therapy isn’t just for ‘crazy fuckers.’”

Dean smirked at him. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “It’s cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go inside.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, okay.” 

As they walked, Cas felt latent anger curl in his stomach. Dean hadn’t told Castiel much about his home life, not until that night. He understood, now, why Dean could so easily take care of others, but needed three beers and a cigarette to show his own vulnerabilities. In his eighteen years, had Dean ever been told that he was enough? The possibility that he hadn’t awakened something in Cas, some righteous fury.

He chided himself internally. How much of his selfish avoidance scheme had contributed to those feelings of inadequacy? He’d rather burn with the pain of unrequited love forever than let Dean think he wasn’t enough.

When they reached the entrance to their dorm, Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm. “Are you okay, Dean?” He asked. 

Dean let out a long breath. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I’m okay. I really am.” He said it like it might have been the first time he’d ever meant it.

* * *

Cas woke up at two in the morning from a particularly vivid dream. His breathing was heavy with the shock of waking up so suddenly. Dean was breathing slow and even across the room, still entirely asleep.

Cas shook his head a little. The dream had felt so real that it had left a residual burning feeling in his hand. He stared at it, but it remained entirely human.

Abruptly, he remembered his creative writing project. A short story, something he could turn into a poem and a stage scene. A lightbulb went off in his brain.

Cas lowered himself from his bed and hurriedly opened his computer. He had to get this down as soon as possible. Cas replayed the dream in his mind as his computer booted up. He supposed it might be a little strange, to turn this story in as his final project, considering it was somewhat of a self-insert. But it had everything he needed.

Finally, he opened a blank document and began to write the first draft. Cas wrote down everything he could remember from the dream, sights and sounds and feelings. With each word, his excitement grew. He’d never felt this way about a writing project, like the story demanded to be told.

Cas hit word count and kept going, because the story was building itself larger and larger. He didn’t even notice how long he’d been working until Dean’s six-a.m. alarm went off.

Dean groaned and rolled over in his bunk. He said something, but Cas didn’t hear, too intent upon getting the words in his head onto the page.

“Hey,” Dean said, raising his voice. “Stephen King, what the hell?”

Cas didn’t turn from the computer screen. “Good morning,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

Dean groaned. “Like the dead,” he said sarcastically. “How long you been up?”

Cas checked the time. “Somewhere around four hours,” he said.

“Four — you’ve been up since _two_?”

“Yes.”

Dean blanched and swung himself down from his bed. “Dude, that means you got, max, an hour and a half of sleep.” He made his way to Cas’s desk and leaned over his shoulder. Upon seeing the word count on his screen, his eyes widened.

“You wrote all that last night? Or this morning?” He asked.

Cas shrugged, a little sheepishly. “I got inspired.”

Dean blinked at him. “I’m gonna make a pot of coffee,” he said.

Cas wrote a few hundred more words before finding a good stopping point. He scrolled to the top of his document and highlighted the scenes he wanted to use for his project. Dean brought him a cup of coffee, which Cas accepted eagerly, beginning to feel the first twinges of exhaustion through his inspiration-fueled mania.

“What’re you writing over there?” Dean asked after taking a sip from his mug.

“It’s one of my final projects,” Cas replied. He drank from his own mug.

Dean looked at him in horror. “A five-thousand word essay?”

Cas laughed. “No. A thousand-word short story,” he said.

“What, so you’re an over-achiever?”

“No,” Cas said. “I’m only using the first thousand words for my project. But I just couldn’t stop. There was more to tell.” His cheeks flamed. Talking about his creative projects always embarrassed him.

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

Cas gave him a sideways grin. “You’ll find out when you read it.”

Dean scowled. “At least tell me what you’re calling it.”

Cas looked up thoughtfully. “I don’t know for sure yet,” he said. “That reminds me…” He turned back to his computer to save the document. When faced with the title option, he faltered. He typed in “The Righteous Man.” That would do for now.


	11. Happiness Feels a Lot Like Sorrow

**Present**

Dean was doing his best to uphold his end of the scotch-induced bargain of Monday night. At the very least, he told himself, it would make the next week more bearable, with Cas lingering in his apartment at all hours.

He’d still been making himself busy. He spent twelve hours at the shop on both Tuesday and Wednesday, trying to catch up on the work he’d missed while he’d been out. Bobby had saddled him with the worst of the lot; Honda Odysseys and GMC Yukons that needed tire rotations or oil changes before enormous families made their Christmas treks. He’d started on Cas’s car, but hadn’t gotten much further than getting the old timing belt off.

By the end of his shift on Wednesday, he was exhausted. It felt good, though, being back in the shop, music accompanying him (at a decidedly lower volume than normal), his hands constantly occupied, mind numb from the easy work.

As he drove home from work, a sign in a shopping center caught his eye. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling into the parking lot of a local bookstore. He turned off the Impala’s engine and walked into the store, not entirely sure what he was looking for.

It was by impulse, really, that he picked up a copy of _The Great Gatsby_. It was a special edition, with extra content bound up at the end. He remembered Cas saying something about that book once. It seemed like a reasonable gift.

Dean almost put the book back on the shelf three separate times before forcing himself to the checkout counter. He paid for the book in a hurry, tossing it into the back seat when he reached the car. _Stupid_ , he thought to himself. He wasn’t even one-hundred-percent sure that Cas still liked that book. He supposed, if he chickened out, he could just give it to Sam, instead.

When Dean arrived at the apartment, Sam announced that he was picking up Taco Bell for dinner. Dean and Cas replied “crunchwrap” at the same time when Sam asked them what they wanted. He raised his eyebrows and the synchronicity, but didn’t say anything, just made a note in his phone. Cas went bright red. Dean stared resolutely at the ground.

Cas was sitting in the armchair with a book as Dean sunk into the couch, exhausted from two long days in a row. The history channel on. Dean wrinkled his nose and punched in the numbers for the Food Network.

“You watch the _history channel_? By _choice_?” Dean asked, feigning disgust.

Cas smirked as he closed his book. “I wasn’t really watching it,” he said, “But on occasion, I do like to listen to the conspiracy theorists on _Ancient Aliens_.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s what you and Sam do all day? Nerd out over crazy historians?”

“Mostly,” Cas said sarcastically. Dean snorted.

“You sure you don’t want Sam or I to drive you home for Christmas?” Dean said. He’d made the offer the day before, but Cas had refused.

Cas sighed. “I’m sure. I appreciate the gesture, but Christmas with my family is the last disaster I want to saddle with myself after…” He waved his hand generally.

Dean nodded. “You still talk to any of ‘em? Your family.”

“Occasionally,” Cas said. “My father called yesterday to ask your same question. I suspect he suddenly feels quite guilty about his treatment of me, considering accountants make quite a bit more than small-town preachers.”

“He’s worried about his retirement fund?”

“Most likely. I do still talk to Anna, though, on a regular basis.”

Dean felt a memory pull at his brain. “She’s the, uh, the therapist, right?”

Cas smiled to himself. “Indeed.”

“I’m assuming you’re spending Christmas at Bobby’s?” Cas asked after a beat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “The usual thing. It’s always a good time.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “I’m glad.”

Dean drummed his fingers against the side of the couch. “You know,” he started, and he was already regretting it, “Sam wants you to come. To Bobby’s. For Christmas.” He cringed. The words sounded lame, like he’d made the whole thing up.

“He does?” Cas asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, but I told him it’d probably be weird, you know,” Dean said with a shrug. “Big crowds aren’t your thing, and all.”

Cas eyed him. “Why didn’t he ask me himself?” He wondered. “We spend a lot of time together.”

Dean stared at the TV. “I dunno, that’s on him.”

Dean could still feel Cas’s eyes on him. “Is this your way of inviting me to spend Christmas with you?” He asked.

Dean nearly fell off the couch. “What? No,” he rushed out. “I mean, it’s not… Not with _me._ With everyone. I dunno, if you’re gonna be here anyway…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Christmas alone is kinda shitty. Especially in this shithole,” he added as he gestured at his apartment. “You can come if you want,” he said finally. “Everyone would probably be happy to see you.”

Cas was staring at him, staring _through_ him, like he always did. Dean turned his attention back to the cooking show playing on the television.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Nothing,” Cas said, tilting his head. “Déjà vu.”

Dean’s chest tightened at that. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “What d’ya say?”

“Okay,” Cas said eventually. “I’ll come, unless that would make you uncomfortable.”

Dean’s head snapped up. After everything, he hadn’t really expected Cas to say yes. “Uh, no, man, like I said on Monday. New start.”

“Right,” Cas said slowly. “And you don’t think we should talk about why we need a ‘new start’, as you say?”

Dean glowered at the TV. “Nope,” he said. Did he always have to make everything difficult? It had been three years, and Dean truly wanted nothing more than to forget about all of it. He didn’t want closure, he didn’t _need_ closure. Neither of them did, seeing as Cas would go back to his glamorous life in less than a week, anyway.

He could feel Cas’s eyes on the back of his head, but he ignored them. “If that’s what you want,” Cas said, his voice resigned.

Dean sat up, then, finally facing Cas. “Don’t you?” He asked, unsure if that was a question he was ready to hear answered.

“I suppose, in a way,” Cas said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

It was Cas, now, who looked away. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Nothing important, anyway.”

Dean wanted to pry, but knew he would be a hypocrite if he did. He got up and moved to the kitchen for a glass of water. He brought a second one to the living room for Cas, who uttered his thanks.

“You ever finish that thing you were working on in college?” Dean asked.

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were on a clean slate. ‘Forgetting about everything.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, that doesn’t count.”

Cas took a sip of his water. “If you’re referring to the pages that are sitting in your bedroom at the moment —” Dean winced “— then no.”

Dean shot him a confused look. “Why not?”

“I… Lost the inspiration,” Cas said carefully.

“Oh.”

Cas regarded him thoughtfully. “You ask me a lot of questions,” he said. “Am I allowed to do the same?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Dean grumbled.

Cas gave him a sideways grin. “I mean, will you become willfully taciturn if I ask you questions about yourself?”

Dean was ruffled at being called out so bluntly. “No promises,” he muttered.

“What has your life looked like the past three years?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not real interesting,” he said. “Working for Bobby during the days, bartending at nights. Saving up money for Sam’s college. Living here.” He shrugged. “Pretty normal, I guess.”

“Do you still bartend?” Cas asked.

“Nah, I quit that when Sam got his scholarship,” Dean replied. “I make enough at the shop to cover what that money won’t.”

Cas smiled. “That’s quite impressive.”

“I’m just a mechanic.”

“I meant paying for Sam’s college.”

Dean felt heat crawl up his neck. “Not a big deal,” he said.

“I would have thought you were on your way to settling down,” Cas said slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “But that doesn’t appear to be the case.”

“No,” Dean said, and this conversation was getting dangerously close to acknowledgement of their history. Dean didn’t dare look at Cas. The fact that he thought, after everything, that Dean would be anywhere close to “in a relationship” was downright comical.

Dean, too, chose his words carefully. “I could say the same about you,” he said. “Unless there’s some guy waiting for you in KC,” he added, realizing he couldn’t possibly know otherwise. “Which, if there is, he’s kind of a dick for not —”

“There’s not,” Cas interrupted.

And that was surprising.

Dean hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he had fully expected Cas to be halfway down the road to marriage by now. The fact that he wasn’t erupted feelings that Dean wasn’t entirely ready to face.

“How’s the eye?” He asked, changing the subject.

Cas put three fingers up to the bruise, which was looking less black and more like splotches of blue and green. “Better,” he said decidedly.

“Good,” Dean replied.

They stopped talking, each turning their attention to the program playing on the TV. Dean had a brief moment of disassociation, watching the scene from somewhere beyond himself. It was strange, he thought, to be sitting in his living room with Castiel Novak, two twenty-somethings living vastly different versions of the same life. Inexplicably, he felt the same thing he’d felt when he was eighteen, lying in the dark, talking to Cas across the room. He felt known, he felt seen, like each and every part of him was open for voyeuristic display. It was nothing Cas had said, nothing he had done, it was just _him_. The way he pushed and pushed against Dean’s shoddy walls while somehow managing to meet him in the middle, every time.

Dean was grateful for the distraction of food when Sam returned. Dean was quiet during dinner, finding comfort in an observatory role. He wondered at Sam and Cas’s closeness, after only a few days spent holed up together. He rolled his eyes when the two of them began communicating in sign language, because of course Cas knew sign language. When Cas’s eyes flicked to Dean after Sam signed something, and the two of them laughed, Dean huffed and gathered the trash to take it out.

It was a frigid night, his breath visible in the low gleam of the floodlights. He tossed the bag over the side of the dumpster and paused. He dug in his pocket, and, finding both his lighter and a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and leaned against the dumpster.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood there, taking long drags until the end of the cigarette burned his fingers, and then just standing, staring into the parking lot.

“Dean?” A gruff voice called, and he turned to find Cas standing across from him, a tan trench coat thrown haphazardly over his black t-shirt and jeans. He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. “What are you doing?”

Dean dug the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket in answer. “Smoke,” he said.

Cas gave a short nod and made his way over to the dumpster. He leaned against it, next to Dean, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Dean gave him a sidelong glance, but Cas was looking straight ahead, deep in thought.

“You and Sam seem to be getting along,” Dean said, his voice gruff.

“Your brother is extraordinarily kind,” Cas said in reply, not bothering to look at Dean. “He talks about you often,” he added.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well,” he said, but didn’t complete the thought. He hadn’t bothered to throw on a jacket, and he shivered as the wind blew straight through his thin flannel. Cas was standing close, their elbows almost touching, and Dean could have been eighteen again. He could feel it, somewhere deep in his stomach, that same bundle of nerves and excitement that had always come when Cas was just a little too close. He almost shut his eyes against the strength of it, but he willed it away, looking at Cas instead.

Cas still wore that intent expression on his face as he stared off into the distance. “Hey,” Dean said, elbowing him in the arm. “You creating world peace over there or something?”

The ghost of a smile. “No,” Cas said. “I’m just thinking.”

That was vague. Dean raised an eyebrow. “’Bout what?”

Cas side-eyed him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a motion with his hand that said, _go on_.

“It’s just strange,” Cas started, wrapping the coat tighter around himself, “That I should end up stranded here, in Lawrence, of all places.”

Dean resisted the urge to pull out another cigarette before continuing this conversation. “I guess,” he said.

“Stranger still that your shop should be the one closest to me at the time.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it’s kinda weird,” he said. “I never expected… Well, that’s why I hit my head, anyway.”

Cas whipped his head around to look at Dean in confusion. “What?”

And, yeah, this was embarrassing, but Dean couldn’t exactly stop now. He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I heard you talking to Bobby,” he explained, “I just kinda… Well, I was pretty friggin’ shocked to hear _you_ , of all people.”

Cas stared at him. “Oh,” was all he said.

“So thanks for this,” Dean said, aiming for levity as he pointed to the soon-to-be scar on his forehead. He smirked.

Cas faced forward again. “I didn’t mean to shock you,” he said. “Actually, I had no idea it was you under that truck.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What, even after you talked to Bobby, you didn’t figure it out?”

Cas shrugged. “The life I always pictured you might be living was very different than the one you live.”

Dean immediately felt defensive. “Okay, asshole, my life is —”

“I didn’t say ‘better’,” Cas interrupted. “Just different.”

That shut Dean up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway, “What did you picture? For me?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Nothing very specific. I suppose a girlfriend, a good job, doing something you like, in a place that you liked. You used to speak so fondly of Texas, I thought maybe you’d moved there. You told me, once, that you had thought about engineering. I usually pictured you like that, an office job. A stable life.”

Dean was watching Cas paint that picture. An office job, coming home to some faceless girl and planning his life around the possibility of an okay-marriage and two-and-a-half kids, waking up at forty and wondering what exact point in his life had lead him down this road. It looked wildly unsatisfying from where he stood.

He just made a grunt of understanding. “Well, you were way off, pal,” he said.

Another small smile, like it had almost been contained. “Apparently,” Cas said.

“You know,” Dean said, uncomfortable with the attention placed on him, “You didn’t turn out how I thought either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well after… You know, I read that thing you wrote. And it was good, Cas, it was damn good.” Something lodged itself uncomfortably in the back of his throat as he recalled the nights he spent wondering where Cas had been, what he’d been doing. He coughed. “I guess I just expected that, by now, you’d have published it. Made a shit-ton of money and bought a douchebag-sized house in, like, Ohio, or something.”

“You make it sound like it’s disappointing that that isn’t the case,” Cas said, and, though he was giving Dean a smirk, his eyes looked sad. Dean felt a pang in his chest at having caused unintentional pain.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Not… I dunno, I guess… I thought that writing stuff made you happy. And…” _And you deserve to be happy, even without me._ Dean had the words, they were right there, but he couldn’t say them, couldn’t take that first step in bridging the now-unacknowledged divide between them. “Well, it’s not like I pictured you depressed or anything,” he said instead.

Cas turned to look at him. “Are you happy, Dean?”

The gravity of the question, the look in Cas’s eyes, curious and almost pleading, sucked the air right out of Dean’s lungs. And there was something screaming at the back of his brain, that no, he wasn’t, that he hadn’t been, that he could never be, because the one key ingredient to that happiness was —

“Yeah,” Dean replied in a small voice. “I guess so.”

Cas stared at him for a moment longer, still searching, before dropping his head and turning away.

“Are you?” Dean asked, almost defiantly, as if the question had been a test that now he was forcing Cas to take.

“I’m very fortunate,” Cas said carefully. “If I am unhappy, it is of my own doing.”

And that totally wasn’t an answer, but Dean let it slide. It was cold, and his back hurt, and he was tired from a long day at work. Silently, he pushed off the dumpster and began to make his way back to the apartment. Cas joined him, settling into a comfortable gait by his side. The air was languid between them, like it was too heavy to move.

Dean let both of them back inside and Cas excused himself to take a shower. Sam was watching something on TV and raised his eyebrows at Dean’s re-entrance. Dean just ignored him, settling onto the couch, thinking about fate and happiness and whether or not the two might be connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took so long to get up! i was an idiot and broke my foot :) happy new year to everyone! <3


	12. The Beginning (of the End)

**Three Years Earlier**

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on _Moving Pictures_ , and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone _that_ long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished _Lord of the Rings_ last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “ _Lord of the Rings_ is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection. 

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming. 

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would rise again. 

* * *

Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, _A Christmas Story_ playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of _Houses of the Holy._ When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the _Harry Potter_ movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas _liked_ hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, _bring that up again, and I’ll kill you_. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder… 

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean. 

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again. 

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab. 

“Prudent,” he deadpanned. 

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes. 

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said. 

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar. 

“Ready to go?” 

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said. 

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?” 

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. _Shit_. 

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret. 

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object. 

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again. 

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say. 

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong. 

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — _fuck_ , I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence. 

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?” 

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering _Cas_ with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?” 

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice. 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback. 

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense. 

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my _car._ What am I, sixteen?” 

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.” 

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.” 

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.” 

“— Because you thought I hated you.” 

“A little bit.” 

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.” 

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.” 

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.” 

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.” 

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort. 

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said. 

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh. 

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.” 

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.” 

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. _Us_. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

* * *

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real. 

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue. 

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.” 

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him. 

_Oh_. 

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming. 

“Mornin’,” he said. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. _Beautiful_. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider. 

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas. 

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways. 

_MM (1:12 p.m.)_

_holy shit!!!!_

_MM (1:13 p.m.)_

_ur going to tell me everything tmrw_

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg. 

_CN (2:32 p.m.)_

_Absolutely._

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class. 

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest. 

“Too early,” he mumbled. 

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless. 

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake. 

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.” 

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer. 

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest. 

“Class _is_ important,” he reminded Dean. 

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?” 

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him. 

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.” 

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?” 

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.” 

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.” 

“Y’all are throwing me a _surprise party_?” 

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.” 

“But it’s a party.” 

“Yes.” 

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?” 

“Only a week.” 

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once. 

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated. 

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?” 

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention. 

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.” 

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.” 

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door. 

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.” 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile. 

* * *

They didn’t make it to the party. 

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television. 

“Fucking _asshole_ ,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly. 

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?” 

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?” 

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing. 

“Dean?” 

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement. 

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic. 

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out. 

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face. 

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot. 

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop. 

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?” 

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground. 

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick. 

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.” 

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him. 

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent updates WHO? major thanks to everyone who left well wishes on the last chapter! and another big thank you to [alwayss-reading](https://alwayss-reading.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for editing this one


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